


Only for a Little While

by eccentric_artist_221b



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Gen, I'm very sorry for this, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Why the TITANIC??, and yet I'm not, fluffy scenes are hidden treasures, so much drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentric_artist_221b/pseuds/eccentric_artist_221b
Summary: Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago…. an Irondad AU





	1. Blueberry Scones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losingmymindtonight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/gifts), [caraminha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caraminha/gifts).



> Hi guys!!!.  
> This is the AU fic that nobody asked for, but you're all getting it anyway…  
> HEAVY ON THAT AU! Got it?
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing MCU and profit nothing from it! Just Irondad...always Irondad.

_…..._

_Southampton, England_

_February 20th, 1912_

Tony Stark is more than a little pleased that he had the good sense to tuck another pair of leather gloves in the pocket of his winter coat this morning.

The frigid air fills his lungs and his breath fogs the glass windows of his shiny new motor buggy.

"Jarvis, you know I can't attend to business until I've had my blueberry scone," Tony tells his valet as the noisy vehicle comes to an abrupt halt on Oxford Street.

Jarvis turns to examine his gentleman, a rather subdued expression on his face, despite the circumstances, "Sir, we don't even have five minutes to spare and now we're stopping for pastries?"

"Scones," Tony corrects, jumping out of the car and walking backwards towards the little bakery stand in the distance. "…and be back in four."

As Tony whirls around with legs walking briskly towards the desired destination, his favorite thing in the world comes barreling out from behind a table of sweets. Whether it was the fresh baked goods or the plucky waif carrying them remains carefully hidden under lock and key in the wealthy man's heart.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark," the young servant calls to him, running till he's toe to toe with Tony.

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Parker," Tony replies, matching the teen's higher octave.

And if the boy's arms seem almost restrained and itching to wrap themselves around his waist, well he certainly doesn't take note.

"Mr. Stark, sir! I made this one special. It's fresh from the oven!"

Peter quickly gives him the bag and the smell of fresh blueberries wafts up to Tony's nose.

"Ahh, Perfection," he says, opening up the bag and inhaling the aroma.

The boy rubs his bright, red hands together and blows into them, hopping on his toes a few times. His scarlet nose matches the shade of his fingers from its continuous leaking and the use of an abrasive handkerchief.

_Still he smiles…_

_Still he giggles…_

"You gonna tell me what happened to your eye?"

"Oh this," Peter points just above his cheekbone, "Dropped a whole pan of soda bread in the dirt yesterday…Mr. Toomes said I could pay for it with my face."

Tony bites his cheek. Anger swelling at the report.

This was not the first time the drunken baker had poured his wrath out on his servant boy. He had first met Peter a little over a year ago…the stripling's head buried in his knees and shoulders shaking with sobs as the heavy rain poured down upon the empty stand.

_"_ _I'm stuck here, sir," he had choked out. "Maybe forever."_

_"_ _You're American," Tony had replied rather dumbly as he caught the boy's accent._

_Peter was just as surprised. "W-Where's your home, sir?"_

_"_ _New York…" Tony replies, "…though, I've been bouncing around quite a bit."_

_"_ _I'm from Queens!"_

So expressive from the very beginning…

_"_ _My parents and I… we came to England, looking for a new life. They both drowned on a sinking vessel while touring the channel…I'm only alive because they couldn't afford to buy my ticket."_

_Tony freezes at the information…It was almost twenty-seven years ago that his own parents were murdered in cold blood while riding home on horseback together._

_"_ _Well, what about back home in Queens? Surely, you've got someone-" he asked._

_Peter shook his head. "My Aunt May…She's worried sick about me…but far too poor to travel and I-"_

_Tony doesn't even blink, reaching into his coat to pull out whatever cash he had on him._

_"_ _Say no more kid. Let me help-"_

_"_ _It's not…It's not just the money I need, Mr. Stark, but I do appreciate it, sir…. really."_

_Tony slowly lowered his hand to his lap. "Then…what is it?"_

_"_ _I won't get on a boat, sir…" Peter replied with a blush creeping to his cheeks, "…not after…"_

_"_ _Oh…"_

_"_ _As I said…I'm stuck."_

Tony couldn't explain why he didn't encourage or school the kid on how to overcome such things at that point in time. Perhaps it was the resolute expression on Peter's face…telling him that it wasn't up for discussion _. 'I'm not ready, Mr. Stark.'_ …. Something like that…

Whatever the reason, nothing more was said on the matter.

_Tony had stayed long enough to bring a spark of renewed zeal into the kid's spirit before he was standing up to dust off his pants and shake off the excess rain from the umbrella._

_"_ _M-Mr. Stark, sir…" Peter began, pulling something from a bag at his hip. "It's stale, but it's all I have. Please take it."_

_It was his first Parker-made confection._

_The scone was damp…a little tough, and yet it had left quite the impression._

_"_ _If you should decide to come back to Oxford Street, sir…I'd be delighted to hand you a fresh one."_

_And that was it._

_The start of something not at all easy to explain._

_An unlikely bond between king and vagabond…_

_He's been buying scones at Toome's Bakery ever since._

"Surely those hits were worth at least three more pans," Tony frowns, tilting the boy's head and running a careful thumb over the mark.

"Are you worried for me, Mr. Stark, "Peter says with a laugh, setting off a sudden coughing fit into his elbow.

Tony winces for the boy before grasping the steaming scone from the bag and taking a huge bite out of its crispy edge.

"Psh,Hardly," he says, "I just think he overcharged you…by a lot."

The boy laughs more, but Tony is far from amused, his glare finding Mr. Toomes, currently lying drunk behind the corner stand with a newspaper covering his face.

"And is that the only place where he…" Tony stops himself and clears his throat, pride restraining him from letting more concern bleed from his lips.

Instead he holds the scone between his teeth and grabs the boy's collar with both hands, roughly pulling it away from his neck so he can better inspect for more bruising around his collar bone and down his back.

Satisfied with nothing visible, he tosses him back a bit, taking the scone from his mouth and throwing it back in the paper bag.

"A suggestion, kiddie. Less attention on the ladies in passing; more attention on your work in the future."

_If I see one more bruise like this…_

"We can't have our best baker laid up. It's bad for business…bad for me, cause I can't go a day without your blueberry scones."

_…_ _.I'm stealing you away, I swear it._

Peter snarls up at him and crosses his arms, "Aye aye, Cap'n," he salutes with about as much enthusiasm as the old dog currently lying under the drunken man's feet.

"Atta boy," Tony laughs, surveying Peter's surroundings once more before tipping his hat and bidding the teenager a good day.

"Oh, just one more thing," he says, tugging off the extra pair of gloves he's wearing and grabbing for one of the boy's icy hands.

"No-no-no-no sir, I can't-"

"Ah-Ah! No arguing with your elders. You put these on and keep them on or there shall be _dire_ consequences." Tony takes off the thick scarf from around his neck and bundles it around Peter's. Another soft laugh escapes through the older man's nose as he nearly loses the boy in the folds of fabric.

Peter can only stare up at him, eyes noticeably redder than a moment ago.

Tony ruffles the boy's hair before putting his hands in his pockets and turning to cross the busy street.

"Mr. Stark," the boy calls out before the man can turn the corner.

A few horse drawn carriages pass between them as Peter tries to see around the obstruction.

When the road is clear again, Tony's still there, smiling with half the scone still in hand. "Mr. Parker?"

Peter gives the man one of his warmest smiles and Tony is nearly undone; the ghastly shiner stands in such contrast to the innocence.

"…Nothing, sir…I-I just…I'll be sure to add even more berries for you tomorrow morning, sir."

_I'll be here, Pete. Please don't look at me like that. It's too painful…makes me want to take you far away from this dreadful place...but you don't belong to me."_

"You better…" Tony says instead, "…though I'll be flabbergasted if you can top this," he calls out, taking another bite and slowly walking backwards.

"Until then, Mr. Stark!"

"Until then, half-pint!"

"That was ten minutes, sir," Jarvis says flatly upon Tony's return.

"Really? My watch says eight."

….

At sunrise the next morning, the extra berries haven't been touched…left to sit out in a tattered basket as the flies land and buzz about in the juices. The dough for the scones is slightly crusted over on the counter top in the kitchen and Peter lies sprawled out on his belly on the floor beside it with his tattered blanket, shivering violently as he wretches hard into a little wooden pail.

He can do nothing but take the whippings that come for him as the bakery opens for business.

Even in his state of fevered delirium, he knows the punishment will be severe.

Toomes would see him dead before the very first customer's arrival and the fear latches ahold of him just as a he feels a cane whack him hard between his shoulder blades.

….

Tony knows something's wrong when his little piece of sunshine doesn't greet him like usual as he rounds the corner.

_No loud, obnoxious calls or repetitive 'Mr. Starks_ _'_ _._

_No delicious smells wafting from the tiny kitchen…._

_No corner stand full of fresh rolls and muffins…._

_Not even a_ _light_ _visible from the inside…_

He can't explain why his feet start running towards the baker's door, or why he knows…he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Peter's very life is in danger, but it's imbedded down into his bones.

Ripping open the door, the screams are already there to greet him and they lead him right to the source.

They aren't formed words…no string of begging or pleading for mercy, just screams…high pitched and hopeless, as if the boy already knows there's no stopping it.

All Tony has to see is his little urchin balled up beneath the owner, fingers covering his battered face, before rage takes over every other sense in his body.

The cane doesn't fall on the teenager again.

Tony dives in to block the instrument, throwing the man hard up against the wall and down onto the counter, flour and dough spilling everywhere as a tussle ensues.

"You like it? Does it feel good!" Tony shouts, shaking the man and punching him square in the nose, one…twice…three times a charm, "Bleeding isn't as fun when you're the one doing it, right?"

Toomes manages to get a punch in at Tony's lip before finally yielding and holding his arms up.

"What are you on about? This is my kid! My property to do what I want with!" he hollers.

"Lucky for you-" Tony says, turning to point at the moaning child on the floor, "-those eyes are watching you, Mr. Toomes."

Toomes turns to look at his handiwork, shrugging at the fact.

Tony grips the drunken man's collar and pulls him within an inch of his own, "He is the one and only reason you're still alive right now…and he's not yours."

With a final shove, Toomes is sent crashing back into a wooden chair, breaking it into pieces and hitting his head on the brick wall as he lands.

A groan erupts from the impact, but Tony could care less.

He falls to his knees to where Peter's lying in agony.

_My kid-my kid-my kid_ _…_

Bruising…bruising everywhere. His whole body's covered with them, as if somebody's took a roller of black and blue paint up and down the boy's skin.

Skinny fingers reach and bury into his coat, tearing at his waistcoat until the buttons nearly rip off.

"T-take me-take me with you, M-Mr. Stark? I wanna go with you-I want you-I wanna go-take me-"

"Shhh. Shhh. You're alrigh-you're-" Tony chokes on his words, too taken aback by such horrific abuse as he holds emotions at bay.

He sees the pail full of puke…the thin blanket full of holes wrapped around Peter's thigh and feels the burn of the boy's skin as the back of his hand comes in contact with his forehead.

The whining sound that carries on from the kid is killing him. He doesn't have a plan other than _'get him out.'_

_Now._

_Right this second._

But Peter's screaming when Tony lifts him and he's fairly certain something is broken.

"I know, kiddie. I know," he says, gathering the boy up as he stands and rushes out the door.

When he reaches the car, Jarvis is already there with the passenger door opened, assisting in grabbing his charge and gingerly setting him in the back seat.

"That is not a scone, sir," Jarvis says, handing his lordship a thick blanket from the floor of the buggy.

"No…" Tony agrees, unfolding it and laying it over the boy, …"but he's mine now."

"Sir?"

As the car drives out of sight, Toomes dabs his head with a grungy kerchief, stuffing it back in his pants before running a bloody thumb down the thick stack of cash in his grasp, a satisfied smirk written on his scruffy face.


	2. House Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a short chapter, but I wanted to break it up a bit for reasons of my own. For those curious, I will be bringing familiar characters into this AU, but its sort of up in the air right now because, as most of you have already figured out, more characters means more likely deaths. (Though I'm not saying that's necessarily everyone's fate.)
> 
> I am finding Titanic research FASCINATING! I know I won't get every detail right, but I'm still striving to.
> 
> Finally, Tony's dialogue. I studied the way the Americans talk in the Titanic movie and listened to audios and accounts from 1912, but I really can't stop writing Tony as Tony...which means there may be times that Tony's dialogue is ahead of its time. I do try my best to keep it period accurate, but do forgive me if I go outside the lines a bit.
> 
> Don't forget to let me know what you think! Love you all!

  


"C'mon-c'mon. Sit up, half-pint."

Peter wakes to someone lifting him up and bending him forward just in time to heave into a bowl.

He clutches it instinctively, the tips of his fingers going white as wave after wave rolls up from his stomach. It has nothing more to offer other then the horrible retching noises coming up from his throat.

"Easy. Head over the bowl...Good boy."

_Mr. Stark's voice?_

_Endless gagging..._

_Everything hurts..._

"No more," he says between the spits and gasps, "No more..."

A cool rag runs across his mouth and tongue, wiping away the icky substance for only a few seconds of sweet relief.

"All done?" Tony murmurs.

Peter catches his breath just in time for another round, thin legs trembling from the drawn out ordeal.

"Why-"

_Heave_

"-won't it stop?"

_Heave_

"Shhh, you're alright. Just let your body do its thing, Pete...Nothing to be afraid of."

Tony aches for his boy as he feels the back muscles constrict again and again beneath his fingers.

Peter's beyond spent when he's finally able to get his first full breath.

"I...m...done...'m done…I think," he says through big gulps of air.

Tony wipes the teen's face one more time and removes the bowl, resisting the urge to follow his charge's example.

"That was the worst bout yet, kid. But, hey, you still took it like a champ," he says, cleaning up what he can and leaving the rest in the halls for his workers to see to before moving back to fluff the pillows again. He climbs up and leans the anxiety-ridden child back against him, reigning in the noodle-like arms till they're folded comfortably atop the boy's shivering frame.

"Lean your head back," he orders softly, placing a fresh washcloth over his brow.

"Where-what-" Peter tries to say.

"When and why are gonna have to wait too, bud," Tony interrupts, bringing a glass of water to his charge's lips.

"How's about we sort out all the questions when you can keep from throwing up for more than thirty minutes at a time."

Peter closes his eyes and sinks backwards. It's been so long since his back has felt a real mattress beneath it...so soft, almost as if he's being held...

He passes out again before another thought can enter his mind.

A few of the house maids enter the room then, all of them standing side by side; each carrying their own version of a smile with faces glancing respectively to the floor.

"Well, what's all this?" Tony asks, adjusting his sitting position and causing Peter's cheek to slip down to his bicep.

"M'lord, the doctor is here," one whispers to him with a slight bow of her head.

"Great. Send him in," Tony whispers back.

The maids exchange glances, as if they'd been expecting such an answer.

"Dr. Banner wishes to speak with you outside, in the garden, sir," another replies.

Tony gives the heaviest of sighs, absently grabbing one of Peter's wrists and tracing a thumb over the bruising there. "Listen, ladies, you're just gonna have to cover for me, I just got him back to sleep...tell him-"

"Tell me what," another hushed voice says.

Doctor Bruce Banner stands at the door, a physician's bag hanging from his side as he removes his hat and nods his greeting. "Something told me it was pointless...trying to get you to take a break."

A blush creeps to Tony's face, but he keeps his head held high.

_He sort of has a kid now..._

_He's sort of solely responsible for said kid..._

_Wasn't this what every 'sort of' parent does for their child?_

_Sure, Peter wasn't truly his..._

_But he's more than comfortable being placed into the role, should the boy wish it._

_And right now, having spent the last eight hours in many a feverish, clingy episode, he thinks it's safe to say he does..._

The doctor looks at the scene the same way an explorer might when happening across some rare beast, thought to be extinct.

And why on earth not, when, here now, sits a millionaire, propped against a headboard, wearing a crisp, white, button-up shirt and black dress pants and in his arms, a battered teenager with dingy striped shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and a pair of faded, hand-me-down overalls with cut-offs just above the knees.

The contrast could've made him chuckle if he wasn't so disturbed by the bruises covering Peter's body.

Even the tops of his feet hold dark pigments of purple and blue.

Bruce takes slow steps across the floor, placing his bag at the foot of the bed.

"Tony...How old is he?"

It's an odd first question to ask, but it's filled with underlying currents of genuine concern.

"Fifteen," Tony whispers, "Or, at least, he will be next month."

"Kid..." Bruce says, and there's so much empathy packed into that one single word.

Tony removes the rag from Peter's forehead with his free hand and dips it in the water on the stand next to the bed, ringing it out as best he can before returning it there.

"He's certainly seen better days," he says.

Bruce picks up a limp wrist and stares at his watch, nodding once before pulling a pen and paper from inside his waist coat and jotting a few things down.

Tony studies his companion closely, checking for any notes of concern.

"Let's have a listen to his chest," Bruce says.

He assists Tony in adjusting Peter, unhooking the overalls and unbuttoning the shirt. The millionaire doesn't miss that the last four buttons are made from cork material...sewn on by a bit of recycled thread.

This kid was a survivor...far stronger in spirit than he could ever hope to be.

The cold stethoscope touches Peter's skin and the whine that follows effects Tony more than he wants to believe.

Bruce listens to the front and back side of the teen, seemingly satisfied with what he finds.

"I don't think there's any danger of internal bleeding...Ill need to examine him thoroughly for any further injuries or broken bones, so give me some time alone with him?"

Tony gives a small nod and shimmies off the mattress, smiling when fingers grab onto him before he can exit.

"See what I'm dealing with here?"

"Yeah, it must be a real hassle for you," Bruce replies, "...pretending that you haven't gone soft."

Tony rolls his eyes and scoffs, peeling the boy's hand away.

"Doc's gotta look at you, kid. I'll be right outside the door."

Peter's either satisfied with the answer or too weak to protest, going limp as all the pillows are removed and he's made to lie flat.

"Call for me if he panics...he's been waking up like that and vomiting."

"I'll be sure to," Bruce replies, as the millionaire proceeds at a snail's pace towards the door.

Tony clicks it shut, but he hovers by anyway, listening in with arms folded, just in case... _just in case._

It feels like an eternity, but when he's summoned back in, he's relieved to see Bruce doesn't hold a grim expression.

"He'll pull through just fine," he begins. "Seems to be fighting a mild virus. I'm more concerned about the bruising...his backside took the worst of it. Nothing broken, but he'll, most likely, be complaining a lot about his spine...and he may have some trouble sitting on hard surfaces for the next couple of weeks."

Tony closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, attempting to extinguish the flames that erupt in his core at the diagnosis.

Bruce pulls something from his bag and sets it in the other man's hand; it's a tinted glass jar with handwritten instructions glued to the outside.

"You'll want to have him put this on when he starts getting up and around again, but in the meantime, you can at least rub it on his arms and legs...it'll help with the swelling."

Watching Tony's mask crumble is somewhat fascinating, but Bruce feels the need to add in a little extra encouragement, if only to paste it back together for the momentary sake of his friend's pride.

"Look, he's got you to protect him now, right? That kid couldn't find a safer place to be than under the wing of Tony Stark."

It's obvious...lame even; never the less, it does the trick.

"I'm sorry, are you seriously trying to console me right now?" Tony asks with one brow raised, "That's really cute, but I just happened to play Good Samaritan today. If you haven't noticed, I'm really not the fuzzy...cuddly...daddy-read-me-a-bedtime-story type."

"No you're not," Bruce agrees, packing up his things and rising to his feet, "Which is what makes this so intriguing."

Tony's eyes shift from Bruce to Peter, sighing in defeat when he feels Bruce pat his arm and walk towards the door.

"I'm only a mile away," the doctor reminds him. "I'll come back by in a few days, but don't hesitate to call earlier if need be."

"Thanks, Bruce."

Tony runs a hand through his hair as he's, once again, left alone with his worry. He reaches to turn on the nearest lamp before the darkness can take over the walls of the great room.

...

The hour passes by quickly, and Peter's soon waking to the sound of a metal lid popping off a jar, catching the object out of the corner of his eye. "...s'that?"

"Welcome back, kid," Tony says from a chair beside the bed, "...and...I don't know. Something with St. John's Wort?..." he adds, sniffing the jar and shrugging, "Don't ask me why they call it that. It's a Banner concoction, should help your skin heal a heck of a lot faster."

Peter allows the older man to apply the strong smelling goop over his arms and face, wrinkling up his nose when Tony taps the tip of it and paints it around his nostrils as well.

"...bruise there too?" Peter asks, eyes drooping downward as a yawn breaks from his lips.

Tony sighs and looks his charge up and down, "Yeah, Half-pint, I'd say the canvas is pretty well covered."

It's not funny, and he even wishes he could take the words back, but he carries on with his ministrations as if they've had no effect.

He rubs the medicine over the boy's calves next and eventually makes it to his toes.

Peter jerks back, sucking in air through his teeth when the movement causes him pain.

"Tickles," he murmurs with a pout.

Tony pauses, a mischievous grin appearing on his features.

"Oh yeah? You ticklish on your feet, Pete?"

He snickers when the teen's sleepy eyes widen like saucers.

"Hmmm, I guess I have to show mercy while you're laid up," the millionaire finishes, winking at his charge before tending to the other foot. "But mark my words...one of these days..."

Peter slumps back in relief, the tiniest of smiles finding its way to the corner of his lips.

"Mr. Stark," he says, touching his throat when he struggles to speak, "When can I... go back to work?"

This is the fifth time Tony's heard it, but it's getting more and more difficult to dodge the question.

"Pete, we can talk about work when you're better..."

_Older...safer..._

"You shouldn't even be thinking about getting up and around until you've had some decent rest anyway."

Peter's bruised and ashen face stares up at him in silence; Tony gazes down at him in the same manner. Both of them reading each other for a moment before Tony softly taps beneath the boy's chin.

"Now, go back to sleep."

And to the millionaire's complete surprise, Peter obeys.

He doesn't cover him up until he's certain the boy is out in the off chance another vomiting session happens to be on its way.

The older man's relieved to see the amount of time that's gone by when he glances up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

When he looks back at Peter, he catches a small corner of paper peeking out of the front pocket of his overalls.

He doesn't even hesitate to tug it out, stopping only once when Peter stirs.

It's an envelope...addressed to Peter from a Mrs. May Parker.

_The aunt..._

Tony feels his stomach twisting in knots as he quietly unfolds the letter, folding it back up immediately and walking out towards the stairs for a pipe.

How could he possibly have forgotten the aunt?

His conscience goes against him the moment he grasps two simple facts:

Somebody else wanted Peter.

And blood was always thicker than water...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what some of you are thinking. Okay, this is an alternate universe about the Titanic, right? WHERE'S THE TITANIC?! It's coming, dear reader! I'm just setting things up for it.


	3. Of Secrets and Misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is here at last, dear readers!
> 
> I have done WAY too much research on the early 1900's that I'll probably never use, but its all worth it for accuracies sake. Hopefully I know what the heck I'm saying and that this chapter isn't just a spinoff of Downton Abbey. (Yes, I did study parts of the first season for this one…including Mrs. Patmore's kitchen. XD)
> 
> My favorite part of writing this chapter was listening to various types of well known classical music. It REALLY brought me to that time era and even made me giggle in one particular scene here. I highly recommend listening to it while you read.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: There is mention of an MCU character's death in this one(one of my favs, infact). If you can't take it, I want to warn you first. I'm really sorry. Please don't hurt me. *hides behind couch*
> 
> Okay, Here We Go!...

 

May Parker's heartfelt letter sits unfolded upon Tony's desk, lit by the colorful Tiffany lamp that sits at the edge of the table. He has read the woman's words at least ten times now. They seem to demand his action…responsibility… _surrender_.

He takes another long whiff of his pipe, letting the smoke hit the stained yellow paper as he tries to process what must come next.

The millionaire has only had this boy safe in his arms for the last twelve hours, and yet their bond has escalated so quickly in that short amount of time that it's scaring the living daylights out of him.

Peter wasn't just the lovable baker boy on Oxford Street anymore.

Tony had pulled the fever from his brow…cleaned his face…washed his hands…covered giant bruises with healing balm…let the teenager cling on just a little too tight…

_And now this._

Putting the pipe between his teeth, he works at pushing down emotion and pulling a few clean sheets of paper from the top drawer. Could he really be shameless enough to write the woman and beg her to let Peter stay in his company?

What loving relative in her right mind would agree to such a thing?

There was no point in going that route, and yet the temptation is there anyway.

He knows what must be done.

He knows, but everything within him fights against it.

Trembling fingers grab for the pen placed at his right, dipping it in the bottle of ink just next to it before its hovering over the paper.

A few drops hit the surface just as the door creaks open.

The bottle nearly spills everywhere as he buries the letter and leans as far back into his chair as possible, doing his best to appear deep in thought.

Peter limps into view and Tony almost leaps out of character, keeping his legs propped up and relaxed as best he can, if only to play the part a bit longer.

"Didn't I say you weren't ready to be up and around yet, half-pint?" he asks the pale faced creature who's barely standing up on his own.

Peter sways back and forth as he tries to keep his eyes on the man he's been searching for, still clutching the doorknob for some kind of support.

"Mr. Stark, I- "

Tony wonders if the kid might throw up as he catches all the usual warning signs: lots of swallowing, eyes glazed over and body bent forward.

"Whoa-whoa! Wait! Let me grab a bin or something," he cries, bolting up and glancing around the room for something Peter can use.

"Don't need to, sir," the boy interjects, a shiver running up his frame as he speaks.

Tony calms at the reassurance but marches over to him. "What do you think you're doing?"

Peter's eyes continue to look up at him and back down to the floor in frustrating repetition.

"…had to say 'm sorry…for all the trouble- "

"Oh, please, kid, let's not do this now."

Tony goes to lift the boy up, but Peter grabs for his wrists.

"Just…I…" he tries, "…If I've made you uncomfortable earlier- "

"Alright, look, if you insist on continuing, please, for gosh sakes, can you at least sit down here for a second, you're driving me crazy standing there like that."

Tony grabs the chair against the wall and places it beside his charge, assisting the teen down into it, but Peter halts and whimpers just as he's about to sit."On second thought, sir" he breathes out, "I should probably-"

Tony winces as he recalls Bruce's diagnosis. _Oh, kid._

"Hang on, let me get some kind of-uhh.." he glances around the room and grabs for goose feather pillows and a thick folded quilt from the couch under the window. "Here we go."

Moving back to the chair he sets his armful of cushions and places them in various positions there before moving to help Peter try again.

The teen stares up with cheeks burning bright. Of course, Dr. Banner would've shared the details of the most bruised parts of his body. Why had he thought it could stay hidden?

"…'s okay," Tony murmurs, grabbing the teen's arms. He wants to say so much more, but nothing else comes to mind.

He guides Peter back down and after a few strangled 'Ow's', he's sitting comfortably.

"Alright, talk to me.," the millionaire says, crouching down at eye level.

His charge blinks a few times and finds his voice again. "I just w…wanted to thank you, sir," he replies. "I promise, I'll be out of your hair just as soon as-"

"I'll decide when you get to leave," Tony interjects, feeling the boy's cheeks and forehead to confirm the stubborn fever was still hanging on. "Kid, you're still pretty warm."

There's an awkward pause after Tony's change of subject. Both of them identify the shift so Peter hunts for a diversion.

"Mr. Stark? May I ask…who's the lady in the painting?" Peter asks, gesturing to the giant framed portrait hanging in front of a wall covered in ornate Persian rugs.

Tony turns to face it, never quite gazing upon the art piece as he contemplates an answer for the boy.

"Well, that's my honey," he replies with a forced smile, braving just a peek up at fair skin and beautiful ginger locks. "She's uh…Well, she was my wife, kiddie."

Peter's lips part.

_Was._

_Was._

_Was…_

He wishes he could have kept his curiosity at bay. Had he known it was to cause such pain to appear on his guardian's face, he would never have pried.

He watches, powerless, as Tony prepares to share something tragic…a buried secret only dug up for moments like these.

"Pepper and I had two years of marital bliss together. She was my whole world."

The millionaire rubs his legs a bit, a subconscious effort to self soothe.

"She was pregnant with our son there…We were planning on calling him Morgan…but then…I lost them," he says.

Peter watches the man's focus leave to somewhere far, far away…somewhere that he could never follow.

 

_...Tony smells the mud, remembers the screams, feels the baby's crowning head in his hands, the blood coating his arms and the linens lying beneath Pepper's shaking legs._

" _This isn't your fault, Tony. Tony look at me, this is NOT your fault, do you understand me?"_

_It's too cold…there's no time…that damned wrong turn._

" _Are they gonna find us?"_

_She keeps asking…keeps hoping._

_No cries of life. Stillborn. Nothing…so much blood..._

 

"Mr. Stark," Peter grabs for a shoulder but its swatted away.

"Are they gonna find us?" Tony asks, "Are they gonna find us? Are they gonna find us? Are they gonna find us!?"

Peter watches him bolt to his feet but grabs the hem of the man's untucked shirt, desperate to help, but with no clue as to how. "Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, sir! Come back! Mr. Stark, come back, please!" he cries, pulling with every last bit of energy he has.

Pain shoots down his backside and the sudden movement makes him dizzy, bile rising up to his throat as he's jerked around. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, sir!" he says with eyes burning.

Tony grabs fists of his own hair and folds back down to his knees, reaching out for Peter's hands; to which the boy eagerly gives them over.

They work at catching their breath, both of them too spent to speak.

When they finally do, Tony's the first.

"What happened?"

Peter lifts his head up as he tries to keep his hands from shaking.

_He's here again. Its fine now. Its fine._ "Y-You left, sir. But you're back now…y-you're back."

The teenager can scarcely believe how calm his guardian looks, as if he was just speaking with a different man seconds prior.

Tony smirks and ruffles the boy's curls, "Feeling guilty?"

Peter looks down, pulling his hand away and running sweaty palms together.

"Good. You should," Tony says, chuckling when Peter's eyes widen.

"Calm down, boy. I'm teasing you."

The older man rises again to his feet and stretches, his back cracking as a long, drawn out sigh follows suit. "I think that's enough discussion for one night," he says, turning to hover over Peter and crouching down with his back facing him this time.

"Get on."

"But- "

"I'm getting old, kid. Don't make me wait forever."

Peter's hesitant in extending his arms out, letting his fingers rest and curl over the man's shoulders before Tony's pulling him up the rest of the way and standing straight, hooking his arms under Peter's thighs.

The teenager pulls himself higher. He tries to shift most of his weight so as not to be too awkward a burden for his guardian, but the small action has him taking shallow breaths as he presses his nose hard into Tony's shoulder.

"Pete, loosen up," the older man says, "Give all your weight to me, buddy, alright? I've got you."

Peter's face stays pressed down, his body unwilling to comply out of courtesy. "…'m heavy," comes the muffled reply.

Tony rolls his eyes and moves towards the stairs, knowing Peter's more likely to stay stubborn in this particular situation. "You know, I was kidding about getting old. Please, don't take me too seriously," he says. _Never mind the creaking sound coming from his knees with each step in their ascent to the next floor._

"I'm actually just a-"

_Step._

"-hair past…"

_Step._

"-my prime."

_Step._

When Tony finally reaches the empty guest room, he nearly drops the teenager down on the bed, Peter's head flops backward, lips emitting a groan as Tony throws himself down beside him.

"You alright?" he asks the boy as they both turn to look at each other.

Peter nods, out of breath giving the man a weak smile as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

Tony lets out another sigh, rising slowly to a sitting position.

"Mr. Stark," the teenager murmurs, tilting his chin down to his neck so he can lock eyes with Tony. "I'm really sorry…for hurting you, sir."

Somehow Tony knows the boy isn't referring to the taxing piggyback ride. He turns off the bed and assists Peter back under the covers. "Kid…you didn't hurt me," he says after a pause, "In fact, I'm willing to bet that's actually impossible."

He pulls the blanket up to the teen's chin and taps his nose. "Now, go to sleep. Tomorrow's itinerary consists of a long overdue bath and getting food to stay down in that belly," he says, pointing to Peter's stomach.

"Yes, sir."

Tony's never been one for awkward silence, and tonight was no different.

"Alright, goodnight," he says with a casual wave of his hand, patting the teenager's head before heading out of the room.

"G'night, Mr. Stark." Peter replies.

His eyes stay fixated on the cracked door, fingers curling up to his lips as he listens to his guardian's footsteps descend down from the stairs and out of hearing range.

A few tears slip down his nose before he burrows into the pillow and allows sleep to claim him.

…..

Peter's first two weeks of recovery inside Stark Manor are a blur of conflicting routines and natural frustrations between he and the man who had, overnight, become a sort of father figure.

Tony's horrified to learn that Peter has been washing himself with a bucket of cold water from the old pump on the side of his stately home.

Peter can't begin to fathom why Mr. Stark refuses to let him scrub the dining room floor after the extravagant meal they've just partaken in.

Even so, with a little compromise and an abundance of patience, the unlikely pair manage to blend their worlds together, each gleaning from the other in ways they never thought possible.

And if Peter wants to do a few chores here and there, well, Tony does his best to keep his hands placed behind his back whilst biting his tongue…

Furthermore, though it seems well past any kind of luxury Peter could ever deserve or afford, the teenager faithfully climbs in to a bubble bath in the castle's enormous copper bathtub every night at 8:00pm.

On the early morning marking the start of their third week together, Peter sneaks quietly down the stairs, his limping has ceased entirely and only the most severe bruises still linger around the soft skin beneath his eyes as do the more blatant ones covered up by his trousers.

He hears an unidentifiable noise and halts halfway, crouching down on the steps and peering through the banister, scanning for any possible obstacles in the way of his plans. They usually come in the form of a meddlesome housemaid, Jarvis, or even Mr. Stark himself.

When there appears to be no threat, Peter resumes in his tiptoeing down to the kitchen.

A genuine grin comes to his face as he enters the empty room full of hanging cookware, Bundt cake pans of various sizes and four large, cast-iron ovens.

Baking has become more than a second nature to him and he can barely contain his excitement when he reaches for an apron hanging behind the door. The mere fact that he was a little under an hour away from surprising Tony with a plate full of his favorite confections pushes his excitement to even greater heights.

Bending down beneath the center table, he grabs a ceramic bowl with a flour sack laid over the top, placing it carefully on his work surface. He pulls the cloth away from the bowl to reveal freshly picked blueberries from yesterday's adventures in the manor's massive garden.

He works with both speed and skill, thankful he can almost make the special treats in his sleep.

If Mr. Stark were to prefer something more elaborate, such as custard tarts or dark chocolate truffles, he would, most definitely, fail in pulling this off.

He's thirty minutes in to his task when he finally places the pan of blueberry scones in the oven. He breathes a sigh of relief when the work is finished, backing away and crossing his flour-covered arms over his chest.

"Just you wait, Mr. Stark," he whispers, "You'll be begging me to work down here after these jog your memory."

"You sure about that?"

Peter jumps so high that Tony has to grab him before he lands flat on his bum. The boy whirls around in his hold, staring up at him with mouth gaping open and cheeks darkening even though the flour covers them.

"Mr. Stark, sir!" the boy squeaks out, and Tony can barely keep from laughing at such adorable panic.

"It's funny. I don't recall giving you permission to work down here," he says with lips pursed in mock pondering as he runs his thumb and index finger over his beard.

Peter gives the most impish smile the millionaire's ever seen in reply, glancing back at the oven as his eyes seem to grow bigger with each moment that passes.

"…cause you know, you have to jump through some serious hoops and there's usually an extensive interviewing process before you can even think about being hired- "

"Aw, C'mon, Mr. Stark," Peter whines, untying his apron and setting it on the table. His fingers touch the extra flour that missed the bowl, absently drawing swirls with it.

He has no idea what possesses him in this exact moment, but before he can think twice, he dusts Tony's cheek with the substance. The boy's eyebrows fly upwards before he stares down at his hand like it has a mind of its own.

Pressing his lips together, he readies himself for anything. Mr. Toomes wouldn't have even hesitated to strike him for such a thing, and yet Mr. Stark's given him reason to believe he would never use such force in his punishments.

_Right?_

Tony brushes the flour from his face with impressive tranquility, clearing his throat and moving towards the teenager even as Peter begins backing away.

"You know, I think I'm gonna cash in on that question that's been nagging at me for weeks?" he says.

Peter gulps, wracking his brain for what the older man is alluding to.

"What question?" he asks.

Tony gives the boy an evil grin, "Is Peter Parker ticklish?"

_A pause…three winks of silent assessment…evil grin broadening…_

Peter bolts for the door, laughter and screams bubbling out of him when he feels Tony grab his sides from behind, digging in to them without the slightest hint of mercy.

The boy's hand slips off the door as he plummets to the floor, allowing Tony to gain the advantage as he pins him there. All of his twisting and rolling does nothing but get him out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

And though Tony isn't the victim here, he can barely breathe because of the ear shattering squeals and giggles coming from his kid. "How…How can you…hit those high notes?" he chortles while carrying on with his punishment.

"Plea-please!" Peter begs as he squirms, "I'll do anything, Mr. Stark, I swear!"

Tony snorts at this and pauses, still keeping the kid in place. Peter drops his head back against the marble floor, panting hard with teeth shining as the early sun hits them just right.

"Can I get that in writing, Mr. Parker?" he asks with gasps following.

"Sure," Peter replies, thankful when he feels Tony release him and rise to his feet.

The older man offers his hand to the boy and pulls him up as well, dusting him off and ruffling his hair to look somewhat decent.

"Lord Stark, sir, I could have sworn I'd just heard the most dreadful shrieks of a young lady a moment ago," the housekeeper suddenly calls from the stairs, lifting her skirts slightly and making her way down to ensure all was right with the master of the manor.

"I came running as fast as I could, sir!"

Peter rolls his eyes and sends a quick glare to the millionaire, who's shoulders are still shaking.

"Not to worry, Mrs. Whitmore," Tony says with a little wave of his hand. "The _maiden_ is well and accounted for."

Peter's glare darkens. Revenge would be sweet, should the opportunity arise…and he would most definitely be looking for it.

"Do you smell something burning, sir?" the housekeeper asks, "The cook is certainly starting early-"

"The scones!" Peter cries, all plots cast aside in a mad dash for the oven. He grabs the mitts and throws them over his hands, pulling the oven door open to release a small cloud of smoke from within.

He coughs a few times and a growl bursts from his throat as a pan of blackened triangles emerges next, the blueberries bubble out of them like bits of charcoal and he can't stop himself from stomping over to the nearest bin and chucking them in to it with all his might.

Tony keeps his distance, feeling somewhat responsible for the dessert's demise, but when he sees the boy's shoulder's slump he attempts to make his way closer.

"I'm gonna throw out a wild guess and assume those were supposed to be for me," he says, "I've ruined your surprise…

Peter shakes his head in disagreement, bringing his hands behind his head as he blows off some more steam. "No… 's my fault, sir."

Tony hovers behind him and gives the kid's neck an affectionate squeeze.

"Tell you what…tomorrow we can make a whole new batch together…Granted, I can't bake to save my life, but what do you say? You wanna try teaching this old dog a couple of new tricks?"

The hopeful puppy expression returns.

"You…You mean it?" Peter asks.

_Oh, kid…what wouldn't I do for you? It suddenly occurs to him to try and answer his own question, terrified when he realizes that there really isn't a limit._

_His heart is solely invested in the child and whether or not it's ever spoken audibly, Peter is his son…even if they were fated to part ways once they arrived in America..._

"Cross my heart hope to-,"

"Don't say it!" Peter interjects, holding his hand up as if he has the ability to physically stop the words. Tony's brows knit together, bringing his hands up as well when the boy's face turns a sickly pail color.

"Kid- "

"My dad used to say that," the teen continues, "He'd say it every single time he'd make a promise with me, Mr. Stark…Now he's dead."

The millionaire doesn't know the first thing about dealing with this kind of thing, swallowing as he scrambles for something to offer but coming up short…even so, the next words out of his mouth seem to be enough.

"Okay…Alright."

As Peter gives a short nod, he pivots around Tony, escaping just before his caretaker can catch the red in his eyes.

…

_Saturday, April 6_ _th_ _, 1912_

_Three Weeks Later…_

Tony Stark is true to his word. Not only does he avoid the idiom that nearly sent Peter in to a panic, but they've also made enough scones to feed every single one of the manor's servants as well as their families.

They now have a rhythm...

Peter takes great care in dusting the painting of Mrs. Stark. He hasn't realized just how filthy it is until he's climbed up a ladder for closer inspection.

He's grown accustomed to cleaning while Mr. Stark is away, usually due to some kind of business affair or the occasional discussion with people who appeared to come from a royal bloodline.

The housemaids were always kind enough to keep his efforts a secret, but he finds no such luck with the ever-loyal Jarvis. He's recently had to find more clever, elaborate ways to do his part in the great mansion.

"I'll have you shining again soon, m'lady," Peter whispers to the portrait, gently wiping a cloth over the frame's edge. He halts in his ministrations when he catches a spiderweb stretched across the art piece and extending to the edge of the wall; eyes following the thread until he spots even more sticky clusters hanging off the corner of the last extravagant rug.

Peter moves the ladder there next, wondering if he's going to find a sizable arachnid awaiting their next meal somewhere in the tapestry.

"Wherever you are...it's clear you've been here far longer than I have," Peter murmurs, hesitant to mess with the spider's ingenuity.

And then a draft whips against the rug, the movement so light that the boy wonders if he's imagining things.

Thin fingers press against bristly threads and he presses an ear to the hanging carpet.

Something hides beneath the textured surface, and it certainly wasn't a spider.

He checks back at the entrance of the study, the hairs on his neck rising as curiosity takes over his senses.

Tip toeing down the ladder, his hand hovers over the rug, inhaling through his nose before pulling back on the wall hanging to reveal a door.

He pushes on it a few times before examining the keyhole where a doorknob should be.

_A key! He's almost certain he's seen it somewhere on Mr. Stark's desk._

He had discovered it a few weeks back while exploring the manor and he flies to the man's work area, shuffling papers and books around to find the mysterious item.

Peter freezes when the missing letter from his Aunt May suddenly surfaces into view. He has wondered about its whereabouts since his tattered clothes were tossed nearly two months ago.

_Why is it here?_

_Why does Mr. Stark have my letter?_

What he discovers beneath it makes his blood run cold…makes him want to faint, throw up and scream all at once.

An envelope with his name on it holds a brand-new passenger ticket for a steamship. He can do nothing but read the bold print over and over:

**WHITE STAR LINE  
**

_Your attention is specially directed to the conditions of_

_Transportation in the enclosed contract._

_The company's liability for baggage is strictly limited, but_

_Passengers can protect themselves by insurance._

_First Class Passenger Ticket per Steamship: Titanic_

_Sailing from: 10/4 1912_

Throwing it back down on the desk, he shuffles through loose paper stacks, searching for any evidence that the ticket wasn't actually for him...that Mr. Stark must have used the wrong envelope...or that it belonged to another Peter that he's unaware of.

And then he sees another letter...or rather...the unfinished beginnings of one lying at the very bottom; his stomach twists in knots as he sways a bit forward. He recognizes Tony's handwriting and what he reads brings a tiny strangled sound from his throat as he drops it like one does a scalding pan.

' _Dear Peter, March 27th 1912_

_I should've given you this letter weeks ago, but I didn't want this trip to be any harder for you than it has to be. I hope you can forgive'_

… _Peter can't breathe. He can't breathe. He's forgotten how..._

"Mr. Parker," a gentle voice says from behind.

The teenager whirls around to see Jarvis at the door. The knowing look in the valet's eyes is almost too much to bear.

_Does everyone know?_

_Were they all aware that Mr. Stark was going to get rid of him?_

"Mr. Jarvis, sir" he chokes out, "Can you…um...w-would you, please, let Mr. Stark know that I am very grateful for everything he's done for me..." A lump in his throat stalls him as he works to get the last of it out. "And that I'm truly sorry that I ended up becoming such a burden."

The moment he finishes talking, he's storming out and heading straight to his bedroom, grabbing only a few essential things from the dresser drawers and stuffing them in a leather satchel.

_He's not getting on a boat._

_He's not leaving._

_He's not. He's not. He's not._

There's only one alternative.

He'd return to Mr. Toomes. At the very least he'd be able to see Mr. Stark in passing like before.

_Take what you can get, Peter, before you lose it forever._ The thought makes his eyes sting.

At least he knows that Mr. Toomes had once cared enough to keep him from starving. He might still take him back if he begged at his feet...

Tony's usual nightly greeting echoes off the halls of the manor just then.

Peter had hoped he would avoid the man entirely. He's not even sure he can face him now that he knows the truth.

Taking a deep breath, he stands up tall, lifting his chin up and facing the mirror to his left. He's determined to become a man before he walks down the staircase, lest the child within should surrender to its fate. And with that in mind, he makes his way out of the stately home.

…..

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you all got to see a White Star Line ticket! Proof that this is still a Titanic AU. XD I promise they will board in Chapter 4! There's a lot to this story and as I've stated before, I REALLY wanted Tony and Peter's bond to be set first and foremost. Now that I feel I've (hopefully) accomplished this, we're ready for the cough*suspenseandpain*cough I mean, main plot!
> 
> Thank you for your patience and I hope this chapter was still enjoyable for everyone! 3


	4. The Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He didn't deserve you."
> 
> Peter goes quiet at this, his jaw moving from side to side as he wars with the comment before ignoring it.
> 
> "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark...it's all I know..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooookay, my peeps. Here we go!
> 
> Again, I did the best I could to research this thing within an inch of its life. Please be gracious to me for any errors, and do read the notes at the end! I love you all and thank you to each and every one of you for reading this fic!
> 
> Special thanks to Bean_reads_fanfic and anthony-edward-stark-is-my-hero for letting me talk through all of this!!!  
> Enjoy, my lovies!!!

  


"Hey, there he is!" Tony calls when he sees Peter approach towards the entry way.

"Sorry, I'm late. I swear, they're finding new ways to drag these meetings out just to- "

The millionaire pauses, handing his hat and cloak to one of the maid's who greets him at the door as his eyes catch Peter's expression, the satchel over the boy's shoulder and the fact that he's wearing the shiny black oxfords he had just gifted him the day prior.

Jarvis rounds the corner just then, looking more than a little weary.

"I tried to stop him, sir, but - "

"Hang on," Tony interrupts, grabbing for Peter's arm before he can bypass him. "Alright, start talking. What's set you off? I'm gone for five hours and things are falling apart?"

The boy refuses to meet his eyes, but his brows fight to stay set in place when he hears the apparent worry in his guardian's tone.

"I'm all better now," Peter replies, "It's high time I got back to work, Mr. Stark."

Pulling out of Tony's grip, he heads straight for the giant double doors.

The millionaire whirls around, arms outstretched as he tries to process the teenager's behavior. "Uh, I thought we had agreed that I would be the one deciding when you-Wait! Kid, you don't even have a new job set up yet!" he says.

Peter stops and turns back to his guardian, "I don't need a new job, sir. The old one's just fine."

"No."

"I've made up my- "

"No. No. No, I said no."

Peter bites down so hard on his cheek he tastes the blood in his mouth before he makes another attempt at defying the older man, "I'm going back-"

"Back to what!?" Tony shouts, skin burning beneath his collar as flashes of Peter lying in his own filth comes barreling back to the forefront of his thoughts, "Cause, you know, I'm just trying to figure this out-so we're on the same page…Was it the endless punches to the face or the cane whupping your ass to bleeding that's made this ludicrous idea suddenly so appealing?"

Peter's eyes well up, keeping everything at bay and grinding his teeth before flying back to the door.

"You're not going back to Toomes!" Tony says, rushing to stop him. "This isn't up for discussion."

"It's better this way," Peter says. "-let's just go back to what it was, Mr. Stark…where I-I-I bake a-a-and you come to see me every morning..."

Tony feels a lump in his throat.

_The boy wants normal...something grounding...even if it was hell itself…_

_Has he not been providing that?_

"Kiddie, Toomes can't take you back."

Peter's eyebrows knit together as they process the information, flattening back down with nostrils flaring when the puzzle piece snaps into place.

"You paid him…?"

"Technically, I-"

"So, you bought me…but-"Peter's voice hitches, stomach churning.

_He doesn't want me anymore. He doesn't want me anymore. He doesn't-_

"Pete, you know that's not it...Listen, it was the only way I could make sure he'd never hurt you again."

"And Mr. Toomes? H-he just...took the money?" Peter asked with voice cracking at the end.

Tony holds back a curse as he realizes the boy's hurt goes far deeper than the rather uncouth transaction between the men.

Somewhere in his heart, Peter wants to believe that even Toomes might have cared for him, even if it was never once expressed.

_Affection starved_ …

"He didn't deserve you."

Peter goes quiet at this, his jaw moving from side to side as he wars with the comment before ignoring it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark...it's all I know..."

"Kid, please...don't make me be the bad guy, here. Come on," Tony begs. "Just put your bag down and stay put, alright? We'll talk it all out over some leftover cake in the ice box,"

"I'm going, sir...I'm sorry."

The moment Peter tries to step out of the grand doors, the older man is grabbing for his wrist, holding himself back in every way he can to avoid the boy feeling overpowered by the action.

His efforts are rendered useless as Peter jerks backwards like a fox in a trap.

"Hey-hey-hey. Think it through, half-pint,"

"Let me go!"

"I'm sorry, buddy. I can't. I'm involved now."

"You're not my dad! You're not my dad!"

"Yep-ow-hey-I know. Just hang on a sec-"

"Get off me!"

"Alright, this isn't working. Sorry about this kid," Tony says as he throws the boy over his shoulder and drags all of the lanky teen back into the house, slamming the door shut behind him with his foot and heading for Peter's bedroom.

"Let me go!" Peter screams as his palms search for leverage against Tony's back.

Jarvis enters the entryway just then, hands reaching out to come to his master's aid but quite unsure of how to proceed. "Sir-"

"Jarvis, have the staff guard the doors!" Tony says with a wheeze, doing his best to pin down flying arms and legs. "And we're gonna need that cake later on, so pull it out while you're at it."

The valet nods with reluctance, arms still holding out to aid for a moment before making haste in following the order.

"Put me down!" Peter's voice continues echoing down the hall.

"I will…after we get you back upstairs." Tony doesn't miss how weak Peter's fight against him is…as if his heart isn't really in it. Whatever was going on, the millionaire clings to the hope that he can still convince the boy to stay put.

As they reach the room, Peter jostles himself backwards when Tony brings his feet back to the floor.

"I saw the ticket!" the teen lashes out, "I-I-I know you wrote to my Aunt May! I know that you're trying to send me away...and that you don't-"

Tony can't believe what he's hearing.

He's stunned that the kid has already seen the ticket, and quite frankly, he should probably feel a sense of remorse for hiding it for this long, apart from one bewildering fact:

_Peter thinks it's to throw him away._

"Don't what?" Tony interrupts, holding up a firm finger to cut the teen off. His dark eyes fix on him, wide and intense. A few veins pop out near his temple as he takes slow steps towards his charge. "Don't what!?"

Peter's lip quivers, his gaze falling to the Persian rug beneath his feet and then to the window as he turns away from Tony.

Thin shoulders begin to shake as a strangled sound seeps out through his clenched teeth.

_He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me... doesn't love me like I love him._

Tony slowly grabs for the teenager's arms, attempting to turn him back around but losing his balance a bit when Peter whirls into his chest all on his own.

The kid grips around his waist like a vise. It hurts, but he's not about to wriggle out of it.

"Don't send me away," Peter whimpers, "I'll do anything you say, Mr. Stark. I can work-"

"Hey-Hey-Pete-"

"I'll be your manservant! You can treat me like the other tenants-"

Tony rolls his eyes. Frustration melting away as he begins to understand where this ridiculous tangled web may have started.

He deals with the biggest snag first, hoping the rest of it unravels in doing so. "Alright. Stop for a second. First off, I want you to explain to me, how exactly, you concluded that I wanted rid of you," he says, pulling Peter back and guiding him to sit on the bed.

The teenager wipes his nose with his sleeve, "The ticket," he replies in a tone that wonders why Tony even needs further explanation, "-and then I saw the unfinished letter you wrote for me- "

"Which was unfinished for a reason," Tony cuts him off, catching the fresh tears on both sides of the boy's face as sobs of relief wrack his thin frame.

"Ah, kid."

The millionaire pinches the bridge of his nose and snickers, "What am I going to do with you?"

He puts an arm over him and feels the boy lean in to his hold, relieved to feel a bit of the tension fade away.

"They need me back in New York for a little while. Top Secret stuff not meant for your innocent ears," Tony says into Peter's hair, "I had originally planned to try and coax you to come along for the ride…and then I remembered your aunt…and I had to write her, discussing your…living arrangements."

He waits for Peter to nod before continuing.

"Kid…if you would brave the ocean with me…I was really hoping I could convince her to…let me…"

Peter turns to stand, brown eyes wider than the wheels of the millionaire's Delauney-Belleville as he waits for more.

Tony falters for a moment, dusting off his hands for no reason at all. "I mean, I guess I haven't even asked if that's something you'd want."

"Ask me," Peter says, with arms flat at his sides, fingers gripping tightly to his tweed trousers. "Please, ask me."

Tony's lips twitch, failing to keep a smile at bay when he sees the kid standing there like a young pup awaiting a treat.

"Would you want to-"

The door opens just then; Jarvis carries an apology on his countenance as he announces the man standing directly behind him. "A Mr. Obadiah Stane is here to see you, sir.," he says, moving aside to let the man in.

Tony rises from the bed and moves to greet the refined character entering in to the room; Peter automatically steps behind him and bows his head a bit to show his respect to the stranger.

"Well, well, well! He does still exist!" Obadiah says, grabbing Tony's shoulders and slapping his back.

The millionaire returns the informal greeting, taken aback by the surprise visitor and glancing back in Peter's direction. "Obi, wow…It's great to see you, really. What brings you all the way to Southampton?"

"Well, somebody had to come down and convince you not to throw Stark Industries down the toilet-"

"That's-I'm not-" Tony interjects, "Have you met my-"

He grabs gently for Peter's arms and pulls the boy to him, squeezing his shoulders as a form of apology when no title comes to his lips. "This is…Peter. Peter Parker."

The way Obadiah stares at him makes the boy's skin crawl. He studies the big man up and down, examining his bald head, gray beard, pin-striped suit, rings adorning nearly every appendage, and the cigar protruding from his lips…which are currently grinning at him in amusement.

"G-good evening, sir," he tries, eyes burning when the stranger blows a puff of smoke towards his face.

"So, you're the Peter I've heard _so_ much about," Obadiah says, not missing Tony's expression upon hearing that his charge has already been discussed elsewhere.

"You're what…twelve?" he continues.

"I'm fifteen, sir," Peter says quickly, eager to prove himself.

"Fifteen!" Obadiah's eyes grow wide as he stares back at Tony, leaning in to lift the boy's chin. "Why, you're practically a grown man. When they told me Tony had taken in a child-"

"He is a child," Tony interrupts, pulling at Peter instinctively.

Obadiah gives a quiet laugh, bringing his cigar down to his side as he scans the pair, "They also said you were quite protective of him…I guess they got that part right."

Tony scoffs and folds his arms to his chest, frustration rising when his business partner returns his hand to Peter's shoulder.

"Good strong lads like this are always eager to work and prove themselves. I'm sure he's more than ready to spread those wings, right, boy?"

Peter nods and straightens, turning to Tony and back to Obadiah. "Y-Yes, sir," he says, blinking and swallowing a few times.

"Hey, buddy," Tony says to the teen, never taking his eyes off the gray bearded man, "Why don't you do me a favor and go downstairs and cut me up a piece of that leftover cake, alright?"

Peter searches Tony's face. Knowing he was being shielded somehow, but not wanting to argue, when his guardian's reputation could be put at risk. "Yes, sir," he replies in obedience, lingering for just a moment longer before quietly slipping out the door.

The moment he does, Tony whirls around to the business man, pointing his finger sharply at the door. "You have no idea what kind of hell that kid's been through," he says in a loud whisper.

Obadiah brings his hands up to steady the man, voice remaining even and collected.

"I get it. Calm yourself down and listen…I'm sorry, alright?" he starts, "I was just trying to wrap my head around the rather drastic decisions you've made involving this boy."

"Because he's poor."

"Because he's a dime a dozen! Come on, Tony! This is beyond absurd and you know it! They're riddling the streets right now as we speak, many of them far more vulnerable and younger than this one."

"Because that's always been a major concern of yours, right?" Tony quips, running a hand through his hair and moving to hang Peter's satchel back on the coat rack attached to the wall.

"I wanna know why this kid is special enough to become Tony Stark's ward." Obadiah continues to pry, taking another puff of his cigar.

"Not my ward…"

"What? I was told-"

"My son…" Tony interrupts. "I guess your elitist's gossip _did_ get some things mixed up in the telling."

The laughter that follows is cold and harsh, the sound alone mocking such a notion.

_And then there's only silence._

It's a silence intended to darken the mood…to turn the atmosphere towards a specific direction and purpose.

"Listen to me," Obadiah murmurs, wrapping a firm arm around the millionaire and pulling him close. He pokes a finger to Tony's chest before continuing, "Now you know…that I know, more than anyone, how much you still ache inside…That festering _daddy_ instinct never really goes away, does it."

Tony turns his head as far as it will go to keep Obadiah from staring into the depths of his soul, but the man searches for the open windows anyway, only stopping when he achieves breaking into them.

"That boy downstairs isn't your baby, Tony," Obadiah continues, "And he never will be."

The comment is enough to push Tony out of his paralyzed state, tossing the taller man's arm away from him, he takes two steps towards the door.

"You know, it's honestly a relief to hear you say that? Cause you actually watched me bury my baby into the ground…and if you thought this kid was him-well you can see how I might be a little bit concerned for your mental state."

"That quick tongue of yours will be the death of you one day," Obadiah replies, walking to the giant window and looking out towards the perfectly kept landscape. "What do you plan to do about the public eye? Nobody's going to believe your story. Have you given any thought to what a potential scandal this could become?"

Tony is relieved to hear questions he has solid answers to, jumping on them right away before Obadiah can carry it any further. "I've got it all lined up. In four short days, I have a meeting with some of the most richest and influential people in the world, second only to me, of course," he explains, "I plan to persuade them to not only pool our efforts and resources towards preventing this world war that's nearly upon us, but also to see for themselves just how trustworthy and honest the boy is. If we can get their tongues wagging in a positive way, then we won't have anything to worry about…and I know they'll fall in love with him, Obi.

"Just like you did."

"Yeah…just like I did."

Obadiah lets out a soft groan as he rubs aggressive fingers over his temples. "Well, you know where I stand in all of it. I don't want to see your father's work burn to the ground…but its clear you've made up your mind." Placing the cigar back in his mouth, he gives a halfhearted farewell before turning to leave.

"Would it kill you to give him a chance, Obi? Please, for me?" Tony gives a last-ditch effort, feeling his hands shake as he pins them behind his back.

More silence follows until the taller man finally speaks.

"Alright, Tony. You win this round," is all he says as he exits the room.

"Goodnight, Obi." Tony replies, eyeing the hanging satchel again prior to making his way back down to Peter.

"Where's the kid?" the millionaire asks a few minutes later when he's met with his butler standing in the kitchen instead.

Jarvis continues on in his current task as he offers the explanation. "He gathered the cake and retreated to the horse barn, sir." he says, smiling as he opens one of the many drawers on the far side of the kitchen.

Tony gives his own side smile as well, plunging his hands into his pockets and giving a nod.

The valet bridges the gap between them, holding a pair of utensils in his grasp.

"Only, he's forgotten the silverware. Perhaps you would like to deliver them, sir?"

They both know what it implies and Tony is grateful any sentiment is left unsaid.

"Thank you, Jarvis,"

"You are most welcome, sir."

"Now give yourself the rest of the night off."

"Sir, I don't think that's really-"

"Ah! No arguing with your employer. Sleep well, Jarvis!" Tony calls, rounding the corner and heading straight for his boy.

He reaches the enormous barn in not time at all, pleased to hear Peter's rambunctious hollering even before stepping inside.

He cherishes the sight of the teenager climbing up the long ladder above with a rope between his teeth, reaching the platform near the ceiling and hooking one of his bare feet into the loop at the end of the rope.

The moment he sees Tony directly below him in the bright light of the moon, he gives a joyful laugh that resonates off the tall walls. "Come on, Mr. Stark! You know you wanna join me!" he shouts, chest heaving up and down from exertion.

Tony leans his back against a saddle rack, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Naah, I'm all good here, half-pint. I made that swing just for you. You go on ahead," he calls back, chuckling when Peter takes no time at all in flying off the edge, hollering at the top of his lungs as the rope swings him all the way to the other side of the barn and back.

On the second pass, Peter arches his back and lets the force of the action whirl him around with ease, letting one of his hands fly free as he lets it continue to glide him around the open space.

"Hey, watch what you're doing, kid. You better have a good grip on that rope," Tony warns, moving to set the forks he's brought down next to the abandoned dessert.

Peter loves the paternal notes in his guardian's tone so much that on the final pass he unhooks his foot from the loop and throws himself into a black flip, gracefully landing on his feet.

"That's not funny!" Tony shouts, clutching at his heart as Peter runs to embrace him.

"No. Nope. I'm not rewarding that bad behavior," the millionaire continues, laughing when Peter continues to try and burrow a way into his arms.

Tony caves in no time at all, eventually running his knuckles vigorously into the boy's curls. "You'll give your old man a heart attack," he says. It comes out so naturally that the awkward doesn't hit until seconds later. Peter's face is still tucked into his shoulder, neither of them speak as they stand still. A horse whinnies and stamps in its stall, startling them both from their frozen state.

"Let's-uh- dig in to that cake," Tony says at last, pulling away and heading for the distraction.

"Yeah, cake," Peter adds, erasing the goosebumps from his arms.

They cut into the rich chocolate treat with their forks, shoveling it into their mouths without a hint of propriety. There's only two bites left when Tony finds the courage he needs.

"You wanna be my kid?" he blurts out, cringing even as it falls from his lips, "I mean, let me adopt you."

Peter giggles at Tony's struggles, taking his final piece of cake and nodding, "Yesh," he says with his mouth full. And that concludes their much-needed talk.

…

April 10th, 1912

The morning sun beams brightly down into the open doors of the barn's loft. Peter lies in a thick bed of straw, staring up at the rafters, deep in thought. He can hear the tenants shuffling the Timothy hay into stalls below as Tony's many horses nicker and whinny in delight. He knows he's going to miss that sound along with a great many other things at Stark Manor.

Another sinking feeling settles in his gut and he clutches around his middle.

_Today's the day._

_What if I can't do it?_

_What if I freak out?_

_What if…What if…What if…_

"Hey, bud," a sleepy voice says beside him, "Oh, please, tell me you slept."

Peter turns to look at Tony, dark circles under his eyes giving him away, "Y-Yeah. Some."

The millionaire moans and rubs his hands over his face. "Kiiiiid, Why didn't you wake me up?"

He had been so sure Peter had drifted in to a deep sleep after the reassurance he had given the night before.

" _They say she's unsinkable," he had told him just before tickling the boy's nose with a piece of straw. Sure, he didn't believe it. The remark was absurd, but if it could help his kid sleep a bit better, then that was all he really cares about._

He lifts himself up and stretches, glancing around the entirety of the massive barn. He sees a worker turn to look up in his direction with a shocked expression.

"Good morning, Mr. Hughes," he calls down.

The man tips his hat, quickly tucking it under his arm when he identifies who's giving the greeting.

"Mr. Stark, sir! Are you quite alright?" he replies, "How did you get up there?"

Tony rubs the kinks from his neck with a yawn, "I climbed…kid's idea for our last night here…though my body's paying for it now," he says, dusting pieces of straw from his hair.

When he turns back to Peter the sight is nothing short of heartbreaking.

The boy lies rigid and unmoving, and Tony wonders if he's going to have to be more forceful in getting him down from the loft.

"You can do this, Pete," he murmurs, patting the boy's leg and reaching for his arm to pull him up. "Come on…Come on."

Peter allows himself to be manhandled into a sitting position, rubbing his numbing fingers in the hopes that they don't curl into fists like they normally do when he panics.

"Breathe," Tony coaxes, and Peter nods, inhaling through his nose and exhaling a few times before the stinging sensation goes away.

A little more time and they make it to Tony's washroom, dressing in the finest clothes the millionaire owns in preparation of their arrival on the luxury ship.

The older man feels a bit nauseated to think of parading his son-to-be around like a blooming peacock to be examined.

_A small price to pay._

_Just a few short days to endure for a lifetime of paternal bliss._

A heavy sigh escapes as he reaches for the pomade on the shelf, lathering the greasy substance into his palms and coating it well into Peter's curls.

"Ow," the teenager whines, feeling his hair submitting to the product and hating every bit of the experience.

"Sorry kid," Tony says with a hint of amusement, "I know this is a whole new experience…and it doesn't help that we're in a rush, to boot."

He puts a comb between his teeth as he finishes getting the boy's hair to straighten back, eventually running the tool through the stubborn curls until they're plastered to his scalp.

The snickers from his guardian make Peter blush profusely, "I look stupid, don't I?" he mumbles out through pouty lips, which only makes Tony laugh more.

"No. Adorable fits better," he replies, standing back to look at his handy work. "Alright. You're all set. Let's make sure Jarvis is ready to head 'em up and move 'em out."

"Before we go…" Peter falters, "May I see what's behind the wall?

"What wall?"

"You know…" the boy continues, pointing into the other room where Pepper's picture used to be before it was packed away into the car.

Tony looks in the same direction and then back to Peter with eyes narrowing, "You snooping around my room, half pint?" he asks.

Peter shakes his head, "I'm Sorry, it's just that I happened to stumble on it that day I found the ticket. I was dusting your wife…I mean the painting of your wife…I mean Mrs. Sta-"

"Buddy, relax. I got it." Tony says with a wave of his hand, motioning for the boy to continue.

"I saw the door…a-a-and that it needed a key…so can I see inside?"

"No."

"Is it a secret lair?"

"No."

"A vault full of money?"

"Already got enough of that."

"A treasure chest?"

"You've read to many books, kiddie," Tony sighs, "I'll tell you what…When we come back here next time…as father and son…I'll show you everything. Deal?" He asks, bringing his hand out for the boy to shake.

Peter hesitates for a moment, a little disappointed but thrilled to hear the word 'son' so easily rolling off the millionaire's tongue.

He grips it tightly and smiles, feeling more and more ready for this as the time approaches.

"Let's go," he says, and he ignores the jitters that follow.

….

When Tony and Peter step out of their buggy upon arrival to Southampton's docks, they stare up at the phenomenon floating above them like it's something straight out of a dream.

Peter can't help but question his reality in that very moment. He's never seen anything like it in all of his young life.

The Titanic is so large, that it nearly blocks all of the sun's rays, shading the sea of people that stand beside it, as they prepare to either board or bid farewell to their loved ones.

"She's…She's massive, Mr. Stark!"

"I told you, kid! You've got nothing to worry about!"

A few small children race between them just then, and soon they're brushing shoulders with ladies with oversized hats and regal men who seem to almost stare in a threatened fashion when Tony struts by. Peter is suddenly reminded of the fact that this man he clings to is one of the richest people in the entire world. The sinking feeling comes back with a vengeance.

"Look at me" Tony says, pulling the teen from his thoughts. "You can do this."

Peter looks around at all of the pocket watches…the top hats…the feathers and fur… _the canes_ …

"Don't look at them. Look at me," the older man repeats, placing his hand on the side of the boy's neck.

"Ready?"

"R-Ready."

And with that, they climb aboard the grandest ship in the entirety of the world, eager for the many possibilities ahead of them, impatient to legally be the family that they already are, and throwing themselves into absolute uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a LOOOOOT of research done for this chapter. I found out that official adoption did not start until 1927. There were legal rights and contracts, but nothing like today!
> 
> Some of you have expressed that Peter should be younger if Tony treats him as he does in this time era, but I am choosing to dance around that. I like Peter where he's at, so I really hope that Obadiah kind of addressed the issue well enough and that you'll be content that Tony has a right to parent him even if he is old enough to take care of himself. Remember, he has already worked for Toomes and Tony's the one choosing to give the kid his childhood back.
> 
> I hope I addressed all the things people had concerns on. I will try my hardest to continue keeping this fic as accurate as possible. Its very important to me.
> 
> Please leave a comment/review and again, Thank you sooooo much!


	5. Getting Some Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm fine- I'm fine-I'm really fine." Peter breathes out, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep the numbing sensation at bay. "Sorry. I'm sorry-"
> 
> "Hey...look at me," Tony interjects, squatting to his level and gently forcing the kid's head up, "You don't have to do this...alright? It's not too late to send you back to the manor...You can wait for me-"
> 
> "No...No, I-I can't..." Peter says with voice shaking, "I can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and every one of you who sent me such lovely reviews! I want to reply to them all eventually, its just been so busy! I apologize! I'm so excited to continue and all the love I've received fuels me on! You guys are so awesome! Who would've thought that more people would be interested in such a strange AU! ^^
> 
> On to Chapter 5! Enjoy!

"Excuse me! You there at the front of the line sir!"

A loud voice hollers at the bottom of the boarding ramp just before Tony and Peter can step foot onto the ship.

Upon hearing the calls, the millionaire's brow furrows as he searches for the source, gently moving Peter and Jarvis to the right of him in order to see the commotion down below.

A man with an Officer's uniform moves with haste through the line of people to meet them, his steps reveal that whatever message he carries is urgent.

"What'd I do this time?" Tony asks, winking at his charge and raising his hands up as Peter looks back and forth between his guardian and the other man.

Upon seeing the Officer's focus shift over to Peter, Tony drops his humor behind and grabs for the boy's arm, pulling him backward. Two other members of the crew catch up to them as well, shuffling in front of the other wealthy families awaiting to board, many of which, are now rolling their eyes upward at the hold up.

"I know it looks like I'm pulling a fast one on you boys," Tony says, "Was it the five cars full of luggage loading on to the ship or just the fact that I decided to forgo the tie this morning?"

"The boy, sir," the Officer replies, and Tony grinds his teeth when he does.

Peter stiffens but straightens himself, hoping to look more put together than he feels, staring the man in the eyes, if only because he imagines that's how one should behave when attempting to look wealthy.

"A reliable source has informed us that this lad lived on the streets before coming in your care just a few months ago."

Tony can hardly register what is being implied. "He's a first-class passenger, and you, Officer, are on very dangerous ground," he replies, ignoring the few gasps of the women standing behind them.

"Understand, sir...he may be a First-Class Passenger, but given his recent history, we must do a Third-Class inspection on him before he is to board."

Peter's face burns red, feeling an assembly of eyes staring across at him as if he was about to carry the bubonic plague into their quarters were they to let him pass.

The boy's obvious shame makes Tony want to spew out any and all of the worst insults he can think of, but causing a scene would only hurt the kid more, so he forces down the urge with the greatest of difficulty.

He wants answers right this second...needs to know who is messing with their plans before their journey has even begun. Familiar faces come to mind in that moment, but he knows firm conclusions won't come from the officer's lips, even if he tries to bribe it out the man.

"Mr. Stark."

Peter's gazing up at him again, fingers curling into his coat sleeve.

"I-I'll be right back, sir. Wait for me here...at the entrance?" he says, letting the officers steer him backward.

"What, and miss out on watching these boys fill out your _squeaky_ - _clean_ bill of health, themselves?" Tony replies, staring down the accusers and gesturing for Jarvis to carry on ahead with the other staff.

He pivots back beside the teenager, slipping a subtle hand down to trembling fingers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. "We are so having ice cream delivered to our room once we get back up there."

"They have ice cream?"

"Alright, I'm actually...tearing up, kid. Can you please just dial the purity down a couple notches for your da-for your soon-to-be dad's...for my sake?"

Peter nearly bursts at the request, the reminder that Mr. Stark could very well be his father in a little over a week's time has him beaming back down to his shoes as they move down the metal ramp, and back on to the boardwalk.

He's struck with the fact that nothing could dampen his spirits while this man stood by his side...not the ship...not this humiliation. As long as he had Tony, he was going to make it through anything that life threw his way.

They've stopped at an overcrowded booth halfway down the length of the boat and a doctor directs the boy to sit on one of the provided chairs next to a table with various medical instruments, none of which he can identify.

Peter watches Tony get bumped around a bit by clusters of third class families... _they are all lower in status, like himself...poor...dirty?_

"Sorry," he whispers to the millionaire, slipping his hands beneath his thighs to still the shakes.

Tony taps the boy's nose, "Think that's my line, kiddie," he replies.

The doctor appears from behind the booth again with a tongue depressor and gestures for Peter to let him have a look.

No _'Good morning, young lad!'_ or _'What's your name?'...j_ ust straight to work as chaos continues encircling the cramped space. Tony's convinced that a veterinarian would display more tact with a heifer.

He cringes when the doctor hooks his fingers into Peter's mouth to examine his teeth and gums, pulling at his cheeks and ripping his jaw downwards.

"Easy on his face," Tony blurts out as the hurried atmosphere agitates him further. "Good grief."

The doctor gives little notice, desensitized by hours of the same complaints and he carries on to Peter's hair next.

"Do you have to, sir? M-Mr. Stark's taken so much time on it," the boy says, even as the doctor tilts his head down until his nose touches his knees.

"I have my orders to check for lice," the doctor replies, sifting through and pulling curls out of their perfectly tamed state.

"We'll fix it, buddy. Just relax," Tony reassures from behind the chair, folding his arms tightly to his chest and turning to look back up at the Titanic. He prayed he was doing the right thing...having Peter get on this ship and making him a spectacle...it was a given that people would talk when one of the wealthiest men in the world suddenly shows up with an unidentified teenager at his hip, but they would devour his charge if they discovered his origins before they had a chance to meet him.

_It isn't right...but it is the reality they're about to face._

Minutes later, Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the doctor tears out a page for approval and passes it over to him. The millionaire moves towards the Officer who's waiting a short distance away and shoves it into his chest. "Make sure you reassure your _reliable source_ that they can sleep easy tonight knowing they've just shamed an innocent kid."

The Officer clears his throat and glances at said _innocence,_ tipping his hat to the boy in a small gesture of apology. Peter smiles back warmly as Tony smoothes back his hair in an attempt to hide that it's been messed with.

"Sorry for the trouble, sir." he says, wincing when his guardian pulls at a troubled spot just above his ear.

Tony almost laughs when he glances at the Officer. Peter's already impacted him with his doe-like eyes and a few polite words.

_You're gonna be just fine, kid._

The deep bellow from Titanic's whistle makes them both startle and Tony whips out his pocket watch. "Five minutes. Kid we gotta move!" He grabs the, now signed, document from the Officer's hands and then reaches for Peter's arm, making a run for the boarding ramp again.

He doesn't expect the teenager's legs to turn to jelly as soon as they're inside the ship, but here he is supporting most of Peter's weight before setting him in one of the provided wicker chairs so he can collect himself.

"I'm fine- I'm fine-I'm really fine." Peter breathes out, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep the numbing sensation at bay. "Sorry. I'm sorry-"

"Hey...look at me," Tony interjects, squatting to his level and gently forcing the kid's head up, "You don't have to do this...alright? It's not too late to send you back to the manor...You can wait for me-"

"No...No, I-I can't..." Peter says with voice shaking, "I can't."

"Why not?"

The boy's cheeks resemble the pink roses planted at the gates of Tony's stately home.

"B-because...the only thing scarier than staying on this boat, is being apart from you."

Tony's heart swells to the point that a sharp exhale escapes him. He opens his mouth with nothing to say, choking on words before squeezing his hands around Peter's wrists. "...Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well...I guess you're stuck then." _I love you, kid...I can't wait to tell you...When will I get to tell you?_

An awkward pause sits between the pair until Tony remembers the many passengers who have already witnessed Peter's panic and he helps the boy back up. "Think you can make it to our cabin?"

Peter nods and finds the strength to persevere down glossy white halls, inhaling the smell of fresh paint and new floors before finally arriving in front of their door.

"So, this is pretty exciting, huh?" Tony says, pulling a key from his pocket, "You ready for this?"

Peter's eyes narrow as he grins, still working to catch his breath, "Wait...this isn't...Why did I think this was going to be a regular cabin?" he says with a laugh.

Tony matches his grin, opening the door and pushing the kid inside. "I don't think you'll have to worry about the walls closing in, at least...Three room suite, kiddie. Two bedrooms...you pick one and I'll take the one beside it...there's a sitting room too..."

Peter bolts ahead, all signs of anxiety gone as his eyes take in every single detail of their quarters.

Tony raises his voice just a tad so the teen can hear him from where he's exploring, "There's also a wardrobe room and-"

"A BATHTUB!?" Peter cries, followed by the sound of rushing water and giggles of wonder.

"Yeah, well, I had to make sure I didn't throw off my kid's routine. Bath time is still at 8:00pm sharp, just so we're clear."

He leaves out the part that they're one of the only passengers to have one in their cabin.

The boy comes rushing back to Tony, eyes popping out of his head, "Mr. Stark...There's a bathtub...on a ship...This is insane!" Another string of melodious laughter follows before he's inspecting one of the bedrooms. Tony can't hide his smile. The kid's joy was infectious.

And then the whistle blows again and they're moving...the laughter stops.

"Pete?"

Tony moves to the bedroom and Peter stands there, staring out of the window, his fingers curled around the back of a chair. "This is really...fun. I like it, Mr. Stark. I like it. Thank you."

Tony bridges the gap between he and Peter, taking the boy's hand from the chair and moving it around his waist for Peter to grab on to instead. "C'mere, bud," he says, smiling into plastered down hair when Peter squeezes tightly around his middle.

"I don't need this, you know," the boy murmurs against Tony's shirt. "You don't have to baby me anymore, sir...I'm fifteen."

"Well, what if I had plans to baby you 'till you're thirty-five?" Tony replies, moving to stare out at the horizon. "And anyway, your birthday was only two weeks ago, so just accept my doting."

Peter studies the moving water, listening to the steady rhythm of Tony's heart and it does wonders for his nerves. "How long will it take to get to New York?" he asks.

"Uh...About a week?" Tony answers, pulling away to find Peter's startled expression.

"Really? That's not so bad," the boy replies, setting himself carefully down in the seat next to him.

Tony goes to the one on the opposite side of little dining table and follows suit. "She's fast. Maybe the fastest in the world," he agrees. "There's still one more stop in Queenstown, Ireland tomorrow, but after that, we're on our way."

A peaceful silence falls over the room just as Jarvis enters the suite. There are hints of concern for the pair on his countenance, but he remains stoic as ever, straightening himself and nodding his greeting. "Are you quite comfortable, sir?" he asks his employer, eyes falling to Peter.

"You know, Jarvis, there's only one thing we're missing right now," Tony says, tilting his head and jutting his chin up, "Why don't you go search the place for some ice cream."

Peter rests his cheek on the table but still manages to smile up at his guardian.

"Very good, sir," Jarvis replies, turning to leave on his new errand.

"Oh, and Jarvis," Tony calls, bringing the man back around, "Make sure you retrieve enough for the maids and yourself too. I think we can all fit at this table."

Peter studies the valet's face in response to Tony's words and he logs it into his memory for safe keeping. It's a small reminder that there are others, besides himself, who have been deeply impacted by his guardian's kindness.

"Right away, sir."

Only the teenager catches the smile forming on the servant's face upon turning away and shutting the door behind him.

...

_April 11_ _th_ _\- 1:30pm_

Twenty-four hours into their trip, Titanic picks up her speed, steaming west from the coast of Ireland. All remaining passengers have boarded the luxury liner.

Peter lies sprawled out, belly up on his bed, passed out from the bountiful breakfast array of buckwheat cakes, tomato omelets and baked apples. He's never eaten so much in his life, but the boy has always been one to eat more than his share when jittery nerves were in the equation.

Granted, Tony had ensured they would eat alone in the dining room on this particular morning, but he knew the introductions were well on their way, and just the mere thought of sitting at a table full of elitist onlookers made him break out in a cold sweat.

And so, his guardian had sent him to take a nap, promising to wake him after he sleeps off the nerves...not to mention his full stomach and the fact that he's still catching up from not having slept the night before their departure.

Peter doesn't know how long he's been out when he feels somebody shaking him awake.

"How's that food settling?" Tony asks, hovering above him as he wiggles the boy's stomach side to side.

The boy's arms stretch high above his head as he lets out a groggy laugh. "Just fine," he sighs with a yawn.

Tony looks out the window for a moment; the sun casts its warm rays into the room and onto the decorative carpet. "So…" he begins, turning back to his charge, who's currently doing his best to sit up. "Shall we get some air?"

Peter brings his knees up to his chest and presses his cheeks in between them, passing glances between the wall and his guardian.

"Look I ain't gonna force it, kid…but I think it would do both of us some good. Even ships this large can get a little stuffy," the millionaire continues. "So, what do you say? Feeling brave enough for a little adventure?"

Stretching his hand out, he waits for Peter to take it, hoping to kick this crippling fear to the curb for good.

He beams when Peter grabs it firmly in his own and soon they're racing each other to the deck.

The moment they're out in the open, the wind whips their clothes around and their hair flies free.

"I won by a long shot!" Peter cries in between giggles, as Tony flings him forward, both of them breathless.

"Oh, by a long shot?! You mean by cheating and pushing me into a wall?" the older man replies, pinning the kid and rubbing his knuckles over messy curls. "Little brat."

When Peter pulls himself away and stares out at the open sea, he doesn't know what to feel.

_Fear…Excitement…Joy…Pain…_

_His parents died on the water…but now…there was the possibility of equating something wonderful with the vastness of the ocean._

_Mr. Stark…_

_Dad…_

He's scared…

No…terrified…

But, he's not about to let it hinder the strength that Tony's trying to build up within him. He has to push himself or there's nothing for it. So, he takes what little bravery he's been given and runs with it.

_Quite literally._

"Hey! Pete! Stop!"

Tony watches in horror as the boy takes off like a shot towards the front of the boat, bypassing crew members and maneuvering around boat equipment until he comes to the very edge.

When Tony reaches him, Peter already has his hands on the railing, the air blasting him even more from where he's standing.

"Peter, have you lost your mi- "

"How fast are we going, Mr. Stark?" the teen interjects, bending to look over the edge.

Tony clutches his heart when he realizes Peter's just had a boost of confidence rather than hysteria, and he glances around to see if any officers are planning on kicking them out. He hadn't missed the _'No Passengers Beyond This Point'_ sign on his way to stop the teenager.

"I, uh…I don't know. Maybe twenty knots? You-uh…doing alright there, kid?" he asks, lungs feeling as if they've had more than their fill of fresh air at this point.

"Yeah! I'm fine!" Peter insists, climbing two rungs of the railing and grabbing for the rope.

Tony's hand flies on its own to grip the leather ear of the teen's suspenders and Peter laughs when he does.

"I won't do a backflip off of this one, sir," he says, and Tony gives him a good swat in response.

"Yes, that's very funny, half-pint."

Peter lets his hands stretch out like the wings of a bird and his guardian grips tighter to him.

As the boy lets out an exuberant shout from deep within his frame, he feels the fear leave with it and he closes his eyes and lets himself put his trust in the father figure still holding on to him.

….

_7:00pm_

By the evening, Peter's spirits lift even higher when Tony tells him he can eat in the suite for dinner, provided he would prepare himself to meet at the social gathering in the dining hall the following day.

He takes his time with this meal, savoring the lamb with mint sauce and the smoked salmon. He's never been a fan of creamed carrots, but he gobbles up the cold asparagus easy enough.

Jarvis and Tony have been gone for thirty minutes when there's a knock on the cabin door.

Peter puts his fork down and slides his chair back. Concluding that his guardian has left something important and has come back to retrieve it, he races across the suite.

"What'd you forget?" he says when he throws open the door.

The first thing he sees is a grin.

_Sinister._

_Cunning._

He can't explain how he knows the figure before him is plotting to bring harm…can't explain why he's trying to slam the door shut even though this person is someone he's already met.

But he senses it…deep down in his bones.

Even if he can't fathom why this man… _Obadiah Stane_ …is here, now, on this boat bound for New York... Peter knows the man is dangerous…knew it from their first encounter.

The man tears his way in, blocking Peter's punches before throwing the boy hard up against the entrance wall.

When Peter realizes the man is too strong, he goes to shout, but Obadiah throws a big hand over his nose and mouth and pins his arms with the other.

"Come now…It's proper etiquette to greet your elders when they come to visit. I figured Tony would've taught this little tramp some manners by now," the bulky man murmurs, staring down into burning red eyes.

"I guess I'll have to help him with that. He's always been a bit too soft."

Nobody hears the scream that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the plot thickens! I'm sorry guys! T.T
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I know it was shorter than last time, but I will try to have the next chapter up asap!
> 
> I chose to do a similar scene to the famous "King of the World" scene in Titanic in this chapter, but I definitely hope it wasn't cliché feeling. I actually worked hard in trying to avoid that feeling, so I hope that didn't take away from it any.
> 
> I also researched the menu on the Titanic for this piece and it was very elaborate!
> 
> Thank you all so much for continuing on with this AU! Please let me know what you think! 3


	6. Peter's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not here to hurt you, Peter." Obadiah murmurs as Peter screams again and again beneath his palm, twisting and fighting in vain against his captor. "But Tony…"
> 
> The boy freezes at the name, chest heaving as new worry lines crease his forehead.
> 
> "Well, he's another story…" Obadiah says, mock sadness in his tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter 6 is finally here, darlings! Thank you all for your love and support and for waiting patiently!
> 
> If anyone is interested in my playlist for this chapter, here are the songs:
> 
> Downton Abbey OST - 06. Damaged
> 
> Titanic OST – Rose
> 
> Finding Nemo – Nemo Egg (Sorry, I use this a lot. Lol

  


...

"I'm not here to hurt you, Peter." Obadiah murmurs as Peter screams again and again beneath his palm, twisting and fighting in vain against his captor. "But Tony…"

The boy freezes at the name, chest heaving as new worry lines crease his forehead.

"Well, he's another story…" Obadiah says, mock sadness in his tone.

Peter turns feral, fear squashed in an instant as his hand escapes and grabs for the man's face, leaving a line of blood along his jaw before the bigger man can restrain him again.

This time Obadiah grabs his cheeks, jerking Peter so hard that the boy feels a pop in his neck.

"Feisty little string bean, aren't you…certainly stronger than you look."

Peter tries again, bringing his leg up to kick hard at the man's leg, but failing to do so.

"Careful now." Obadiah warns, "Your precious Mr. Stark is out there, right now, having a nice meal with some rather unsavory characters lurking around in the dining room. And you know who's orders they're waiting on?" he waits for the recognition to come to Peter's eyes. "That's right. Mine."

Peter's gaze follows to the door, the fight to break away beginning to fade from his frame.

"You seem like a bright young lad. You know what defying me means at this point, right?" Obadiah asks, removing his hand from the boy's face when he knows he's too frightened to scream anymore. Instead he wraps his bulky fingers around Peter's neck like a loosened noose. It was up to the boy to decide whether it would tighten or not.

"Now, I've got nothing against your character, boy," Obadiah says, "I see can why Stark's lost his mind. You're healing him…replacing his dead son and giving him something new to protect…I could care less about that…but your precious father figure holds a lot of secrets, Pete. I bet you didn't know he used to work for the US government…that he was building dangerous weapons for them long before you came along…and now all of a sudden, Tony has this change of heart with plans to give his fortune and life's work to a pathetic, little street beggar…"

Peter remembers the secret door at the manor just then…wondering if that was what Mr. Stark was keeping under lock and key…if that was what he had promised to show him when they came back to Southampton. Was Tony really going to try and trust everything to him?

"Pay attention, boy…Pay very close attention," Obadiah says, pulling him from his thoughts, "Now, you do exactly as I say…and Tony lives. You disobey me…and no matter what you try to pull…no matter what plan you come up with…he's dead, Pete. BANG!"

Peter jolts at the word, eyes going wider and softening with defeat.

"Simple…Do we have an understanding."

Peter nods vigorously, body shaking hard beneath the man's hold.

"That's a good lad…Tomorrow, at this grand introduction he has set up for you, I want you to tell him that you've had a change of heart."

"No!" Peter lets out a choked sob from deep within his gut, "No, please, sir. I don't want to. I don't want to!"

"Shhh. Hey, listen...listen, now. I know that's a tall order, boy, but we both know it's in Tony's best interest. You wanna see him live to see New York, right?"

"I love him."

"I know you do. Anyone can see that. That's why I can trust that you're gonna follow through, without fail…right?"

Peter tries to look away, but Obadiah forces his head back, "Right?"

The taller man pulls away when he receives a weepy nod, backing up to leave.

"I have a room in steerage ready. Just do your part and I'll take care of the rest."

The door flies open just then, a man in uniform bursting through it. His chiseled face looks lethal enough to do damage on its own as he stares Obadiah down where he stands.

"We've had reports of a struggle from the passengers down this hall," he says, "Are you alright, son?" he glances over to Peter's tear streaked face, acknowledging the boy with suspicion.

"Nothing to report here, Officer," Obadiah replies, turning to face his victim. "The lad was just seeing me out, if that will be all, Peter."

Peter doesn't wait, wiping his face and stumbling towards the entrance for Tony's sake. "Y-yeah, g-goodnight, sir," he says, gesturing for both he and the officer to leave before shutting the door.

The moment he's alone he falls to the floor, inhaling sharply again and again as the adrenaline continues to rush through his body. "What do I do?" he whimpers, "Oh, God…What do I do…what do I-"

The sudden vibrations of fervent knocking only jars him further, realizing in his panic, that he hadn't yet locked the door. Peter crawls backward and the same officer pushes his way back in.

The teen shakes from head to toe, shuddering in relief when he realizes he's safe for the moment.

"Hang on, kid. Hang on," says the tall figure before him.

Peter doesn't realize he's in such bad shape until the man has to lift and carry him over to the sink.

"Head down. Breathe," the man orders, turning the faucet on and letting warm water glide down the boy's hair.

Peter doesn't know why, but he trusts the stranger, inwardly grasping for anything to ground him from the overwhelming terror as the shakes continue to roll through his frame. He doesn't know how long it is before the man speaks again.

"Got your breath back?"

Peter nods, shivering as a towel is thrown over his head and strong arms lean him back on to another chair.

"I'm Steve Rogers…a US soldier and close friend of your da-…of Tony's," says the stranger, moving quickly around the room to find any other possible threats still lingering in the suite.

Peter's brows knit together, noting the White Star Line uniform and the name badge that don't line up with the introduction.

"Tony knew this trip could put you both in danger…so he asked for some help. I happened to be in the area." Steve continues, a small smile forming when Peter's mouth can only open and close repetitively.

"Y-y-you're not…a-a part of the crew then?" the boy stammers out.

Steve shakes his head, "Afraid not, son," he replies, grabbing another chair and setting it across from Peter, "I'm gonna need you to tell me exactly what happened between you and Stane before I got here."

Peter clams up, rubbing his palms together and glancing in every direction but straight ahead. "It was nothing, Mr. Rogers, sir."

"On my word as a soldier…Stane doesn't know that I'm here, kid. You can trust me.

"I can't!" Peter cries, grabbing fists of his hair and rising to cross the room, "I can't! He said that any plan I come up with…" he stops himself and growls through his teeth. "It doesn't matter. I can't, sir!"

Steve stands back up and meets the boy where he's at, placing his big hands atop thin shoulders. "Son, Obadiah is a master at manipulation…but he isn't as strong as you think he is," he bends down to look Peter in the eye. "He's afraid of you."

The teenager's lips part, studying the blue eyes for their sincerity, "Me?"

The soldier gives a firm nod. "That's right…and you keeping secrets from Tony and I is only going to give him the ability to remove that threat…cutting you out of the picture just lets him put off killing Stark for a little while longer to further his plans."

Peter swallows a few times as he processes the information. "Does Mr. Stark know he's here…on the ship?"

"Neither one of us was certain…but Tony's had his suspicions after the night he met you in Southampton," Steve replies.

The tick-tock of the coocoo clock on the far wall seems to magnify itself with the current tension of the room, a not-so-subtle reminder that Peter couldn't put this off.

"I'll tell you," he says, "-but you have to let me do what he wants…I've gotta make him think I'm following orders…at least until Mr. Stark is safe."

Steve's expression says he doesn't approve, so Peter's quick to continue.

"You can't stop me from protecting him. Those a-a-are my conditions, Mr. Rogers…sir."

There's another pause when, "Hey, Pete. They let me break away for a bit. You've gotta try this pudding, bud-"

Tony walks into the suite, calm and casual until he sees Steve standing there with Peter; the dessert is thrown on the table, making a clanking sound as the millionaire flies to his charge.

"What happened?" he asks, grabbing for the boy and searching him top to bottom for anything and everything. "Kid."

"Tony." Steve tries to interject.

"Are you hurt? What did they do to you? What did they do to you!?"

Peter can't seem to form any words to answer his guardian, shaking his head as Steve moves to bring explanations. "He's alright. I made it here on time."

Tony wants to hear it from Peter…needs the proof from the kid's own mouth, but the boy crashes into him instead.

Steve waits patiently as the millionaire grips the back of the boy's head, running searching fingers over wet curls and checking Peter's neck for any signs of abuse. "You were right," the soldier says at last, nodding when Tony's wide and burning eyes meet with his. "It was Stane."

The older man brings Peter beneath his chin when he hears the name, chest heaving and nostrils flared as he tries to process the news.

_Stane was in this room._

_Stane attacked my kid…my boy…my-_

"Mr. Stark, I'm here. I'm alright."

He hears Peter speaking but the thoughts continue…attempting to bury him…

_Bury him just like Pepper…just like his baby…beneath the dirt…_

_Peter's in danger…He's not burying Peter. He's not burying this one too…_

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!"

Tony's vision clears to see Peter's hands are on the sides of his face, coffee colored eyes staring directly into his as the boy presses their foreheads together.

"I'm safe…I'm safe…I'm safe…" Peter repeats for him over and over.

It numbs the pain…clears the fog away…until normal returns once again, and his wits return as if unscathed.

Tony pulls Peter's hands down and folds them beneath his own. "Thanks," he says, blushing and unwilling to look over at his friend just yet. "Could somebody please say something, I can't do this awkward stuff."

The teen jumps on it first, finding strength in caring for Tony, though he paces as he does. "He threatened to kill you."

Both men pay close attention to Peter's words and the boy is relieved that Tony's recovering so quickly with the distraction. Seeing how it grounded the millionaire was the push he needed to share the rest.

"He wants me to…"

' _Don't stop, Peter. Get it out. You have to..._ ' he tells himself.

"He wants me to reject your adoption offer at the banquet tomorrow night…and to place myself in steerage…where we would then part ways once we reached New York."

He's proud of himself for keeping the tears at bay, but none too thrilled about setting off his guardian's, ever growing, paternal instincts again in doing so.

"I'm gonna go kill him," Tony announces like he's about to go walk the dog or head out to shop for a new derby hat. He heads for the door without another thought, but Steve grabs his arm.

"Tony, you have to use your head with this one," the soldier says, glancing over to Peter and back. "Not your heart."

Tony inhales sharply through his nose, following Steve's line of sight before Peter moves to stand in front of him again.

"We gotta make him think he's won," the boy says, tapping his fingers together and looking to Steve for back up. "Mr. Stark…you have to let me do as he says-"

"Absolutely not!

"Just until we can catch him with evidence!"

"NO!"

"Tony, please!"

The millionaire's resolve cracks upon hearing his first name from the kid. Staring into youthful eyes, he sees the signs of growth peering back at him. Why did it have to come this way…show itself in such a horrendous scenario when all he wants is to do, right now, is tuck the boy away somewhere guarded from all life has to throw at him.

Peter turns to Steve next, "Let me do this."

Steve crosses his burly arms over his chest and lets out a long drawn out breath. "It is the safest way, Tony," he finally agrees, lowering his gaze to the floor when Tony juts out his chin and storms to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Peter tries to follow, but the soldier grabs at his collar, shaking his head when the boy turns to look up at him. "Give him a minute, kid. You're asking to put his entire world in jeopardy."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pocket and glares at the door, "Yeah. I know the feeling, sir."

Steve can't help the amused sniff that escapes him. The pair were two peas in a pod.

When Tony comes back out a little later on, he appears worlds more collected. The steady, invisible mask is back in place to prove that point as he stands toe to toe with his charge, eyes boring into him as he clears his throat. "Alright. You go along with this," he begins.

Peter's eyes widen as he presses his lips together, holding his breath for more.

"But we do this my way. There's no coloring outside the lines here…no lone wolf stuff. You are not Sherlock Holmes; do you understand me?

"Of course not, Mr. Stark," Peter says with a nod, "You know you've always been Holmes. I was your trusty Watson when we played detectives back at the- "

"Yeah, that's…let's not discuss that…now," Tony interjects, grabbing the boy's arms. "Good. So, we understand each other."

Steve gives his friend a side smile, pleased to see Tony happy after years of such grief.

"I'm assuming you have a plan of action?" he says, taking his cap off and setting it down next to the pudding mess.

Tony takes two forks off the table and offers one to Peter before stabbing the dessert and stuffing a large bite of it into his mouth. "I've got several," he muffles out. "But first pudding."

….

_April 13th_ __

_1:00 am_

' _Okay…come on. Stop. Stop before you wake him…I can do this…I can do this…'_

Peter's muted cries started long after he hears Tony's snores in the other room.

The confidence he had started with, climbing into bed, had slipped through his fingers. Obadiah's warnings permeating through his mind like a poisonous tonic.

' _You disobey me…and no matter what you try to pull…no matter what plan you come up with…he's dead, Pete.'_

'….he's dead, Pete.'

'… _dead.'_

The water leaking from his eyes and nose gets so bad, that he forces himself to a sitting position, crisscrossing his legs and covering his hands with his face to keep the liquids at bay.

"Half-pint?" he hears Tony whisper into the darkness.

Peter doesn't even try to stop the sobs when he's caught.

The moment he feels his guardian sit beside him on the bed, he knows it's over. Tony is far too smart to believe whatever lie he can come up with in the moment, so he doesn't do anything but go limp when he feels the arms pulling him into warmth and allows himself to be comforted.

"Hey…" Tony murmurs, gathering up the boy even more when the sobs increase in volume.

The older man pulls a handkerchief from his pajama pocket and gives the boy's face a much-needed wipe down, dabbing at swollen eyes and cheeks first before finishing at his nose.

Peter takes it from him and blows loudly into the cloth, the action giving him just enough of a pause to compose himself.

"I don't…need that back, by the way," Tony says.

Peter turns to look up at him. Just knowing that this could be one of the last times Tony teases him makes his face crumble and the crying starts anew.

"Kid…" Tony chuckles. _Gosh, you're a tender little thing._

As the older man pulls the teen back towards him, Peter's body wracks harder at the words.

"He's gonna find out."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is…I'm a terrible liar."

"Yeah, you are." Tony agrees, making Peter laugh through his sobs, "But that fact is actually going to help us, not him. Besides, you ever see what happens to people who mess with a bear cub in the woods? It ain't pretty, kid…I almost feel for Obi…No…I don't."

"I'll be the one to protect you." Peter whispers.

"Oh, yeah?" Tony whispers back, smiling fondly in the darkness. "My cub is quite the fighter…Think you can fall asleep now?"

Peter shakes his head shyly into Tony's chest. "Just hold me. Please."

He feels Tony sigh into his hair as the millionaire complies with his wishes, eventually pulling them both back against the headboard for comfort's sake. "Should I sing you a lullaby too?"

Peter pinches him in response.

"Ow."

"Now you have to."

"That's just a subtle way of admitting you want it…taking cues from me now?"

When Peter doesn't respond, Tony ponders not only _if_ he should sing, but _what_ he should sing.

He can't exactly go with Brahm's lullaby or Hush Little Baby with a teenager in his arms…and then he remembers that one song Peter had played on the phonograph back at the manor, day after day after day. It grated on his nerves the first hundred times it reached his ears, but the moment he started to associate it with having the boy around, it grew on the older man until he even started picking up the lyrics himself.

Tony swallows a few times and clears his throat, wondering if Peter would laugh or stop him once he started, but he goes for it anyway.

" _Oh, Say... Let us fly, dear…. Where, kid? To the sky, dear…."_

He hears Peter sniff, and imagines him to be smiling, but he carries on anyway when there's no protest.

" _Oh, you flying machine…jump in, my silly teen…"_

This time Peter giggles when he hears Tony tweak the lyrics, rather impressed that the older man found something that rhymed with _'Ms. Josephine'_ in only a few seconds.

" _Oh joy, what a feeling…Where, boy? Through the ceiling…Ho, High, Hoopla we fly…To the sky so high…"_

Tony pulls the extra blankets over both of them as he continues, feeling the boy relax against him when the warmth engulfs them.

" _Come little teen in my flying machine, going up he goes… Up he goes…"_

He imagines Peter on his rope swing at the manor, swooping across the horse barn without a care in the world, looking similar to the flying trapeze performers in the circuses back in America.

" _Balance yourself like a bird on a beam. In the air he goes… There he goes…"_

_A yawn._

Good. It's progress at least.

Maybe he wasn't completely failing this parenting thing.

" _Up, up, a little bit higher…Oh! My! The moon is on fire…_

_Come little teen in my flying machine…Going up, all on, Goodbye…"_

As he goes through the entire song one last time, he's nodding off as well, so he settles with burrowing down onto the pillows as Peter nestles himself closer and breathes evenly against his collar bone.

"Goodnight, kiddie," he whispers, not surprised with the little snores in response.

The fierce protective waves hit him again when he imagines Obadiah breaking in and grabbing Peter only a few hours earlier.

He'd take the man out early if he ever tried laying a finger on his child again.

_There it was again…he's claiming something before it's really his…_

_Funny, that the more he does it, the less he cares…_

"M'ser. St'rk…y'r squishing me," Peter whines.

"…Sorry."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's the fluff calm before the storm. Eat it up well, my loves. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because it was a doozy to write! I don't even understand how I made it through, but somehow I did. Thank you to those of you beautiful people who helped me through. You know who you are!
> 
> I literally had to look up when crayons were invented (1903 for those curious) to make sure that Tony's coloring in the lines comment was accurate. LOL I find this amusing. xD
> 
> How is everyone liking Cap's entrance to this fic?
> 
> I was rewatching the Titanic movie for reference sake, and the part came where Jack sings "Come Josephine on My Flying Machine" to Rose and I thought…surely this wouldn't apply to my AU boys, but upon reading through the lyrics I got this syrupy sappy idea in my head and it wouldn't go away! I thought the flying machine could represent Tony's suit…and Petey just so happened to be the 'bird on the beam' along for the ride. HAHA I see irondad everywhere…I'm sorry. Not sorry.
> 
> PLEASE BE AWARE THAT IT WILL BE AT LEAST TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS POSTED! I AM GOING ON A HOLIDAY OF SORTS! So please be patient with me and thank you SOOOO much for everyone's sweet and wonderful comments!
> 
> Let me know how you're liking this AU. Much Love and God Bless!


	7. The Parting Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now it was time.
> 
> Whether Tony liked it or not…
> 
> Whether Peter felt ready enough to perform…
> 
> They had both stalled long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OKAY, WHAT A LONG WAIT, READERS! Thanks SO much for all your patience and understanding!
> 
> I have been SO busy with real life, I got sick, I injured my knee…honestly I feared for this chapter and its completion! So just, thank you! I love you all and please let me know what you think in the comments! 333
> 
> ALSO, ATTENTION EVERYONE: LOLOL To get the FULL experience of this chapter, ya'll should youtube search: "Gaelic Storm - Irish Party in Third Class + John Ryan's Polka" for the "dancing" scene in this chapter. Teehee. Just put it on repeat. Trust me…..or don't. xD I could be crazy…

  


….

_April 13_ _th_ _, 1912_

_8:00pm_

… _._

"So, half of my face is covered in flour, our housemaid is running down the stairs in a frenzy and Peter turns bright red as she cries, "I could have sworn I'd just heard the most dreadful shrieks of a young lady a moment ago!"

The banquet hall fills with laughter as Tony finishes his narrative.

Many faces already carry a softness towards Peter as they continue to study him, much to the millionaire's relief.

Nevertheless, there's still no short supply of snobbery amongst them.

"Peter, you must be a fine baker, indeed, to make a scone worthy of Mr. Stark's tastes," a slender woman dressed in a teal evening gown says. Her dangling gold earrings wag as she speaks and Peter thinks she resembles a peacock, "How ever did you manage to learn such a skill as an orphan?"

The teenager straightens up a little higher in his seat, exchanging glances with his guardian when he feels Tony pat his knee beneath the table. "I-I-uh-used to work under a baker for…some time…back in Southampton, ma'am. Just before Mr. Stark's…uh…mentorship." Peter's face burns and he wonders if his father-to-be realizes it's on his behalf; not for himself.

"Well, if I get my way, and I…usually do," Tony interjects with a raised eyebrow, pausing as more laughter erupts. "Then, this kid will have his own bakery one of these days. People will come from all over the world to try Peter Parker's confections."

The millionaire would be lying if he said he didn't relish the miffed expression of _Ms. Peacock_ that she offered back in response.

Peter's uncomfortable look sobers him back to their current problem.

The pair had fooled their enemy easily enough with the formal greetings at the entrance of the dining room earlier, but that was only the beginning of their strategy.

Tony's blood had boiled just beneath his formal attire as he was forced to listen to Obadiah confess his sudden change of heart in light of their last parting words.

" _I guess, it's like you said, Tony…What kind of partner would I be to you and this company, if I didn't at least give the boy a chance."_

_The millionaire had to blink and turn away when Obadiah reached to ruffle Peter's hair, afraid of what his instincts would do if he continued to watch the sickening display._

And now it was time.

Whether Tony liked it or not…

Whether Peter felt ready enough to perform…

They had both stalled long enough.

The moment Tony stands and raises a glass, Peter and Obadiah lock eyes with each other from across the table. The bearded man gives him a subtle nod; as if re-confirming that Tony's life was now entirely in his hands.

The teenager braves a peek from behind his chair, spotting a few men with hands resting inside their jackets and lying in wait like well-trained hounds.

"Anyways, I've never been one for lengthy sentiment…but I am sure about one thing…" Tony carries on next to him.

Peter feels his mouth go dry as he stands, eyes closing as tears spill down his cheeks with ease.

_Mr. Stark was right._

_He understands that now._

The fact that he was a terrible liar really _was_ to their advantage, whether the older man had foreseen this exact scenario or not.

Peter doesn't need to act for this...doesn't need to conjure up a little grief. It was already bubbling over. The mere thought of never seeing Tony again is all he needs, and judging by the way Obadiah hides a smirk, the villain is already convinced his plan will reach its completion.

"M-Mr. Stark," the boy chokes, lifting his gaze up to Tony, "I-I-I'm..."

Tony bites down on his cheek, finding it ten times harder to act ignorant whilst his boy struggles through what they've practiced.

_It's alright, bud. It's alright…_ _This isn't real...I'm never letting you go...Just do it so you can hurry up and come back to my side..._

He hopes, somehow, Peter can sense the words of comfort camouflaged behind the one's he's rehearsed. "Pete, what's going on?"

_Say it, bud. Come on, say it..._

Peter's lip trembles as his fingers reach for Tony's sleeve. "Mr. Stark..."

The teenager studies the regal expressions around the table; surely, they would all sour and harden the moment he proclaimed he was finished with his guardian.

_Please don't be mad. I said I'd protect you. Let me color a little outside the lines, just this once..._

"I'm sorry, sir...I have to go...I can't..." Peter says, pushing back his chair and pivoting around Tony.

He feels his arm ripped backwards, turning to face the older man's terrified expression. Their minds entangled in an unsaid argument...

_'What do you think you're doing!?'_

_'It'll be alright, Mr. Stark. He still thinks I'm leaving.'_

_'Finish your lines! You finish your lines, kid, or I swear-'_

_'Trust me...please...'_

Tony loses his grip on the boy as Peter bolts out of sight, watching helpless as he nearly collides with a few other passengers before pushing through the dining room's swinging double doors.

The millionaire follows, but Obadiah halts him with a big hand. Satisfaction and fear wrestle in Tony's gut as the other man continues to do exactly what they hoped he would.

"I'll find him," Obadiah whispers, glancing back to the table of witnesses. "If you leave these people now, without finishing your petition, we're gonna lose their aid."

Tony's glad he's supposed to be visibly upset.

Knowing Obadiah was about to meet with his kid again sends tremors through his frame. He has to fight extra hard at keeping his hands at his sides and not wrapped around the other man's throat.

"You don't know what he needs," Tony replies, eyes burning a hole through their target, "What if he's having another panic episode? Are you gonna know how to-"

"I'll find out, Tony. Alright? I've got this. Trust me."

Tony shoves the man's hand from his shoulder, clutching at this chest as he pretends to resign.

_Good thing you don't understand what it is to be a father, Stane._

_Good thing you're a big enough fool to think that I would ever hesitate to chase after my child._

_Good thing you actually think I would put this pious group of people ahead of my son._

_It will be your down fall..._

"Alright…just...would you get him back to cabin A-36 for me?" Tony asks, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out one of his keys to hand to the man. "Make sure these make it back to my valet when he's settled in."

"Of course," Obadiah says with a smile, "Now, you go on and complete what you started. You've got nothing to worry about."

Tony feels he might lose his dinner when he pats the other man's arm, pressing on and swallowing down rage to choke out his next words. "Thanks, Obi...for everything. I'm glad you changed your mind."

He questions everything when Obadiah embraces him in reply, the unexpected contact sends shivers up and down his spine and he wonders if the man is just toying with him, reading his inner-most thoughts and enjoying this dangerous game their playing with full knowledge of where its headed.

"I'm glad I did to."

...

Peter isn't surprised at all by the harsh slap he receives when Obadiah gets him back to the suite. The larger man grabs a fistful of the teen's hair, jerking his head back and bringing their faces within inches of each other. "I told you to renounce him," he growls, "to cut your ties."

Peter pants sharply through his teeth, eyes glaring up in defiance.

Tony and Steve flash through his mind; imagining them doing their part of the plan gives him an inner strength he hadn't realized he'd possessed and he shudders to think how different this moment would be, had he not shared Obadiah's filthy plot with them.

"I agreed to remove myself from the picture...not to disgrace Mr. Stark," he replies between his rapid breaths.

"You know what I'm looking forward to the most, kid?" Obadiah asks, keeping Peter in place when he tries to struggle from his grip. "I'm waiting for that infuriating passion to finally leave your dad's eyes. I've always preferred them dull and lifeless."

Peter spits in Obadiah's face before he can stop himself, satisfied at seeing the older man's shock before he gets a blow to the stomach in return.

His knees buckle on impact, unable to support himself as his lungs forget how to breathe. He dares a glance back up to his enemy, who pulls a handkerchief from his suit to clean his scowling face.

"You better have your things packed and ready in one minute, or I'm throwing you over board, myself."

Fear returns with a vengeance as Peter stumbles for his bed, crouching down to pull a single suitcase out from under it. He lets himself cry again as he rises to stand, knowing the emotion would further deceive the man anyway.

"Goodbye," he whispers, covering an arm over his eyes and sniffling. He lets the pain in his abdomen drive it home, moving backwards with audible sobs to try and sit back down on the bed.

"Move it," his captor barks, pulling him back towards the door before he gets to, "Lest you forget, kid...Tony's life is still in danger as long as you're still a part of it."

_..._

When they arrive at the elevator, Peter steps inside, feet going numb as he watches the iron gate close behind him like the bars of a prison cell. His eyes stay fixated on the A-deck hall through the gaps of metal as they descend, only looking away when it disappears out of sight.

The lift attendant studies Obadiah and the red handprint on Peter's tear stained face, never swaying from his post, but offering the boy the tiniest of smiles. The teenager wants to return it, but instead he sniffs and stares back at the floor.

They don't stop until they reach the very bottom. The E-deck sign is there to greet them, painted in gold against the glossy white wall.

The lowest floor seems void of any life as they follow along with the large pipes hanging above them. When Obadiah stops at the door of a dead-end hall, Peter falters, wondering if the other man intends to lock him inside.

"This is your room now," he says, grabbing the boy's arm before entering. "...Or rather your bed."

The cramped space holds five bunks; all but one holds suitcases and carpetbags atop the mattresses. Two porthole windows lined with polished brass gives a view to the blackened sea and a few hooks for coats and hats is all that decorates the wall.

Obadiah grabs the boy's suitcase and tosses it on the empty lower bunk near the windows. When Peter feels a bulky arm wrap around his shoulder, he shrinks down, bringing tight fists to his chest and submitting under the taller man's hold.

"Now…you be a good boy, and stay down in steerage with the other rats, where you belong. Alright? No heroic efforts... You know I've got eyes all over this ship, right?"

Peter nods, bringing his head down more just before the big man sends him flying backwards.

"Good. Now, you take care of yourself, Pete. I hope we never have to meet again," the man says, giving him a wink before walking out of the cabin.

The moment he's out of sight, Peter slumps to the floor, eventually falling until he's sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the steam engine humming somewhere beneath him in the bowels of the ship, attempting to follow its rhythm in a feeble attempt to calm his heart.

…

_Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock_

_Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock_

" _Paddy!...Paddy, Open up, ye wee mucker!"_

Peter's eyes fly open to the pounding on the door, rolling to his side and sitting straight up as he tries to deduce what's happening. He shifts himself backwards towards a nearby bunk and wavers with the decision to comply with the aggressive knocks as they carry on and on.

" _It be donkey's years, now, we'd been waitin' on your arse!"_

There's an awkward silence as the door creaks open. Peter stares up at a giant, black-bearded man, in tattered trousers and a brown leather vest, his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, hairy arms.

Both he and the stranger wear puzzled expressions as they stand gawking at each other.

"Oi," says the man. "Sure and Yer not Paddy, are ye, boyo..."

Peter turns to look inside the room, remembering the other baggage and biting his lip before returning his gaze again. "No, sir. I'm afraid your friend is out at the moment. I've only just arrived…I-I-I mean obviously I was already here…but then I-" Peter scrambles for the next words, unwilling to test Obadiah's abilities to see and hear his every move. "…changed rooms," he finishes lamely.

"American!" the man cries, to Peter's relief, "Yer headed back home, aye?"

Peter nods, tapping the ends of his fingers together. "Y-yes, sir."

"And yer family?"

"…'s just me, sir…but my aunt is waiting for me back in-"

"Well, what ye doin' all by yer lonesome?" the man interjects, pulling Peter out of the room and shutting the door behind them, "C'mon, laddie, we're all family down here, ye know! And there be a party awaitin' us right down the hall."

"B-but…sir, wait! Wait!" he tries, surprised to find another cluster of passengers racing up behind them and heading for the lift.

' _Peter, what are you getting yourself into?'_ he asks himself before following the boisterous crowd.

….

The teenager's ears catch the lively music first, the familiar melody beckoning him back to simpler times, when all that mattered was a bowl of his mother's hot porridge and his father playing a fiddle at the hearth.

He reaches the third-class recreation room to find it bursting with people, the smell of smoke, sweat and beer fill his nose as he glances around with awe.

An elderly English man stops Peter when he passes by his table, taking his rugged cane and pointing it at Peter's shiny black oxfords. "Somebody loves you," he hollers over the noise with a grin.

The teenager stares down at his shoes and blushes…partly because he's too dressed up for this, and partly because the man is correct.

"Have a drink!" someone cries to his left, offering him a glass of dark, malty beer.

"N-no, thank you, sir, I'm not old enough," he shouts in reply as a few others laugh at his innocence. It doesn't sting like it does with the higher class, perhaps because he's their equal.

Straight ahead sits a gathering of Irish musicians, their thrown together band invites a warm and jovial atmosphere as a large gathering kicks up their heels to the tune of Blarney Pilgrim, whilst spinning their partners around in wild circles.

Peter's heard the song many a time from the street performers back in Southampton. They'd pull out their fiddles and an old accordion just as the lamps would light up the cobblestone roads.

Many of the women wrap themselves with plaid shawls in a variety of colors, while the men wear caps of tweed and gray wool. Laughter and shouts compete with the band and Peter sniffs in amusement when he imagines what Mr. Stark would think of such a display. Has the millionaire ever been exposed to such delicious chaos or would he avoid such things like the plague?

The teenager was no stranger to dancing, though it hasn't once entered his mind since the death of his parents. His current predicament makes him question why he should dare consider it now, when danger lurked around every corner…but perhaps that is exactly what compels him to suddenly join in on the madness, letting strangers intertwine their hands with his as the beat of the drum grows louder and louder in his ears.

…

"The kid's strong, Tony. Wherever he is I'm sure-"

"Yeah. I get that, Rogers," Tony interrupts, stopping his strides around the suite and placing his palms on the table, "but I gotta know what's…It's…"

Steve stands from his chair and moves to put a hand on his friend, knowing Tony so rarely can't finish his sentences. "You're worried. I get it," he says, empathy climbing when the snide reply never comes.

Tony falls back against the settee, rubbing his hands over his face and leaving them there. "Ugh…this is…well, I can think of a few choice words, but I know you'll rebuke me," he says, bringing a smile to his friend's face.

Obadiah had already visited with his lies a little under an hour ago, stating that Peter was confused and scared of the life Tony's building for him and that he's requesting to be left alone, or something ridiculous along those lines. Tony doesn't really care, he just wants this trap to work so they can finally go back to normal.

His valet enters just then and the millionaire jumps up from where he sits, "Did you find him? What room?"

"I did, indeed, sir," Jarvis replies, giving a nod and briefly glancing at Steve.

"Where is he?" Tony presses.

"Not in his room, sir."

….

Peter never imagined he'd be dancing with a bunch of strangers when he signed up for this trek across the world, and yet, here he is now, promenading under a bridge of arms with a girl who didn't speak a lick of English. She smiles shyly as he leads her down the tunnel and back to the end of the line, returning the expression before switching partners as the dance required.

As he nears the beginning of the row again, it's not a stranger that takes his hands this time.

"You've been holdin' out on me?" the familiar voice asks.

"M-M-Mr. Stark, what are you-how did you-where did you get these clothes?!" Peter cries as a very dressed down Tony pulls him back around and continues the dance.

"Some guy down the hall. I gave him a hundred-dollar bill and called it good."

"Mr. Stark, this is dangerous."

"Welcome to my world, kid," Tony replies, "And anyways, Steve's guarding the castle…Our dragon's lighting it up in the smoking room with all the other bad eggs."

Peter's not convinced in the slightest, brows knit together in frustration as he allows the man to carry on the steps.

"Besides, he's got the key, remember? That's all he cares about." Tony continues, leading them down through the tunnel of arms again, "And I'm so emotionally distraught cause my son doesn't want me anymore, that I just plum forgot."

"He's not stupid, Mr. Stark," Peter replies, eyeing every person around them as they take another spin.

"Debatable, but you're smart to keep your guard up, kid."

One song ends and another begins and Tony pulls away from the boy, gesturing to Peter's legs and backing up slightly. "Alright. C'mon, let's see it," he says, "We gotta establish which of us is the better dancer, here…part of that undisclosed father-son check off list you and I have been working on."

Peter's cheeks turn scarlet as he protests for a bit, giggling when the crowd around them encourages what's about to happen. "I can't-"

The whooping and cheering climbs even higher until Peter finally caves and shoves Tony backwards, smoothing his curls back and letting loose, tapping his feet hard onto the wooden floorboards perfectly in time with the bodhran drum. The throng of onlookers holler and shout, loving every bit of it as Peter dispels every care away beneath his lightning fast heels.

Tony can only keep his grin at bay for a few precious seconds before he's full on laughing, amazed at this kid's endless talent and wondering when it ever stops. His chest swells with pride, knowing he's done nothing to deserve the enigma before him.

And then it's his turn.

The millionaire prepares himself by gulping down half of a pint belonging to another young fellow standing next to him. It dribbles down his chin and splashes on to his hundred-dollar, moth-eaten, cable-knit sweater as he gives it everything he's got.

He wants to burst in to more laughter when Peter's jaw drops, but he has to stay focused on the music when it speeds up, keeping the pace with extra effort, but still holding his own.

Peter cheers louder than anyone in the room, joining in on the clapping as he cracks up in utter disbelief.

They link hands to finish the song, twirling in tight circles until their beyond dizzy and feeling their limits.

They take a bow at the end and Tony sways, making Peter steady his guardian as they both grab on to each other for support.

"You win, half-pint," the older man breathes, receiving a hug from the teenager.

When Jarvis enters the packed area then, he knows he can't stay another second, quickly pulling away to look at his kid.

"Time's up, Pete," he says, hating the pain it causes, "Stay out of trouble, okay?"

_I love you, buddy. Don't be sad._

Peter nods with nostrils flaring, all joy drained from his thin form. Tony taps under his chin and pivots himself around the crowd as the boy watches him move out of sight.

Minutes later, Peter sees Obadiah scanning the room and it sends an unpleasant, burning sensation deep within his core. He despises the twisted man for threatening the only person he has left in this world, and were he a little stronger…a little older, he'd fight the man head on, all by himself.

Instead, he drifts back to his quarters until he reaches his bunk, climbing onto the thin mattress, curling himself under a blanket and gazing out the window to study the stars.

He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, when the door flies open and two drunk men stagger inside, falling over each other as they make their way to their beds. Peter covers his head with the blanket, goosebumps rising all over his arms and legs.

"Well, what have we got here?" one of them says, moving to manhandle Peter around so he can get a better look at him. "A little squab."

The teen fights against the bigger passenger, growling as he works at ripping the man's filthy fingers off his shirt. "Get off me!" he screams, exhausted from the constant barrage of attacks that seem to follow him everywhere he goes.

"Get off me," the other man mocks in a high-pitched tone, both of them laughing when Peter tries to retaliate and punch his way out.

"Get your hands off the boy, or we'll be sorting this out in the hall," a calm voice says from the top bunk.

_Captain Rogers._

Peter whimpers in relief when the arms release him, pressing himself back against the wall and curling his legs up to catch his breath.

"Oh, and you're gonna teach us a lesson, right?" one of them replies, attempting to stand.

Steve jumps down with ease, standing far taller than the other two. "If I must," he says, arching his brows and cracking his knuckles.

The closest man lunges forward and takes a swing at the undercover soldier. Steve shifts his balance and counters with a jab that becomes visible only after the drunk's punch misses. He crumbles under the weight of the blow, out cold before his body hits the ground. The Captain pivots to intercept the other aggressor, who now stands frozen in place. "I'll give you a choice, friend," he says, "You can either climb over to your bed and put yourself to sleep, or you can let me do it. Whichever you'd prefer."

The man doesn't wait, gasping and tripping towards his choice and not making another peep.

Steve turns to attend to his charge, who's looking at him like he's just grown two other heads.

"Sorry, son," he whispers, "It's alright now. You can go back to sleep."

Peter gulps as Steve climbs back to his spot, waiting until the man settles before lying back down as well. "Th-thank you," he says, wrapping the blanket back over him.

Steve shuffles a bit and Peter's eyes catch the man's arm dangling down with an item of clothing in his grasp. "Tony wanted you to have this, in case you were cold," the soldier explains.

Peter's slow in reaching out to take it, eventually running his skinny fingers down the stitching as he recalls the many times Tony's warn it in the past.

After a long pause, the boy brings it to his face, inhaling the familiar scent and blushing as he realizes that's most likely what it's for. He's sick of crying like a baby, but there's no stopping it, so he lays himself back down with the garment, clinging to it like a vice, and muting each sob before he finally fades back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guys, honestly, this chapter was one of the hardest things I've ever written and I don't even know why! Maybe because its all down hill from here? I don't know….
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the Steerage/Third Class Party because I am a huge Irish music nerd, as well as a fan of the party scene in the Titanic movie! The moment I remembered how well Tom Holland can dance and how easy it was to picture, I legit squealed! xD
> 
> For those curious readers, Tony gave the stranger in the hall 100 dollars for extra clothes…that is the equivalent of 2,500 today. 0_0 Which is, of course, nothing to him. ;)
> 
> Finally, I tried to keep the immigrant passengers a bit vague on purpose. I want to be very careful not to insult any groups of people and have only the highest respect for people of all cultures. I did not go too deep in description for this reason, as I did not do super in depth studies on anything and do not want to appear ignorant. LOL Thanks for understanding!


	8. A Greater Adversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know…I was originally planning to let the boy go...”  
> The larger man sneers when it gets an immediate reaction. Seeing the words stab in to Tony’s frame, he’s quick to drive the weapon in deeper, “…but you’ve made it a habit of dragging your loved ones back in to the line of fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter of a chapter…but some key moments coming up none the less. It will pick up from here!! I really hope you guys enjoy it, though I’m rather nervous about posting it.  
> Once again, thank you SOO much to each and every one of my readers!! Your reviews, encouragement and kudos are overwhelming!! *hugs*

__

_April 14 th 1912_

_11:40pm_

 

It’s the following night after forced separation that Tony and Peter’s cabin door opens without a sound. A large silhouette of a man appears stretched out across the carpet and onto the far wall.

The empty room lies shrouded in darkness, save the bit of light creeping in from the hallway, as Obadiah Stane sweeps the space for any traps or treachery.

The floor creaks beneath his weight as he takes cautious strides towards the object he desires beneath the window. He had noticed the large, abnormal suitcase mostly veiled beneath the curtain when bringing Peter back to the suite the night before.

_Stark’s Invention…he’s certain it’s here on board with its creator._

_The luggage most certainly contains the key to starting and winning the coming war…_

Reaching for it, his fingers grip the handle, setting it on its’ side with caution.  He takes one more look around the room before flipping up the metal clasps and lifting the lid wide open.

_Empty!_

A small, suppressed chortle sounds from behind him but Obadiah refuses to startle, willing himself to stay crouched and staring ahead with watery, bulging eyes.

“I mean, come on. You have to admit…it is kind of funny. You actually fell for the ‘I’ll be in the lounge with the other gents, if anybody needs me.’ line?”

Tony steps just out of the shadows, sliding his hands in to his pockets whilst shaking his head.  “I knew the kid was giving you too much credit.”

A sinister smile forms on Obadiah’s face despite his rage, running his fingers back down to the handle of the barren case. “I do recall telling you recently…that quick tongue of yours will be the death of you one day.”

The large man twists, hurling the luggage.

Tony narrowly escapes, going into a roll that puts him within reach of a fire poker as the item crashes hard against the wall. As Tony grasps the instrument, he rises and turns to face his opponent. Obadiah intercepts the weapon; throwing a punch to the millionaire’s jaw.

Tasting the blood on his tongue, Tony quickly recovers and grips a nearby bottle of alcohol to swing it, glass shattering against the villain’s free arm. The blood it draws, steals Obadiah’s attention just long enough for Tony to land a swift kick to the bigger man’s inner thigh. The momentum of the blow carrying it to the groin.

The bald man growls in pain, yanking the poker towards him and the other man with it, snapping his head forward to connect with Tony’s brow.

Both dazed, Tony falls into a sitting position. The iron drops with a clang, just out of reach. Obadiah hunches over with hands on his knees as the two men pause to catch their breath.

“You know…I was originally planning to let the boy go...”

The larger man sneers when it gets an immediate reaction. Seeing the words stab in to Tony’s frame, he’s quick to drive the weapon in deeper, “…but you’ve made it a habit of dragging your loved ones back in to the line of fire.”

_Tony can’t breathe._

 He stares up at Obadiah with eyes pleading before a nauseating fire consumes him from the inside out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I think you know,” the other man interjects, “…recruiting your little wifey to sniff around where she didn’t belong.”

Tony tilts up his chin, swallowing with no air to rescue his lungs as his hands go numb.

“Don’t you dare take credit for her death,” he says through his teeth, fingers drilling hard into the rug.

The memories press upon him with an unnatural force, his arms no longer stabilizing him.

_Pepper screaming for hours..._

_The baby never does…_

_No amount of rubbing revives the infant…_

_He feels his son’s cold little chest against his own…_

_The warmth of his own skin proving futile._

_And he can’t breathe…he can’t breathe…but he does…_

_He lives._

_And they don’t._

“Not just her…” Obadiah continues, standing upright to hang over his prey, “…the little bastard in her womb as well. It was simple enough to sabotage your little trek through the winter woods.”

Tony lunges forward, halting when he catches the gun flying out of the murderer’s suit.

“In the morning, this will be a simple suicide,” Obadiah says, bringing the gun closer to Tony’s quivering face, “And Tony…I promise to be a little more humane when killing your boy this time around.”

A leg flies up to kick the gun out of its owner’s grasp as Steve appears between the two men. A quick jab and a heavy strike to Obadiah’s face and he hears the sound of his nose shattering, blood trickling down his chin.

He throws a wide swing at Steve, but one kick from the soldier sends him flying backwards and hitting his head on the back of the wall.

Obadiah wipes at the blood, smearing it further in to his graying beard, “I’ll see you court martialed for this, Captain Rogers,” he says between labored breaths.

Steve doesn’t wait to apprehend his enemy, grabbing for the other man and twisting his arms roughly behind his back. “We’ll see about that after all the evidence you’ve just given us,” he replies, “I have a pretty good feeling you’ll be rotting in- “

“Hell.”

Steve hears the click of the gun before he realizes Tony’s the one holding it, stiffening at the murderous rage swimming in the whites of his friend’s eyes.

“He’ll be rotting in hell.”

“Tony.”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

The millionaire’s hands shake against the weapon, his finger hovering just over the trigger. Obadiah’s snide smirk only aides in Tony’s madness, willing him to give in to his carnal nature.

“Tony…we’ve got him. Don’t do this…Think of Peter,” Steve continues, keeping his captive firmly in place and bringing a hand up to dissuade the act.

“My wife!” Tony shouts with tears brimming, “My son!”

“I know,” Steve says in hushed tones, “I know.”

“I’m doing this for Peter…I’m not losing another son to this psychopath.” Tony moves closer as he speaks, relieved to see the smirk fade from Obadiah’s face when he does.

“Tony, listen to me. You’re not doing your new son any favors by throwing yourself in prison. And that’s exactly where they’ll take you if you go through with this,” Steve says.

_There it is…_ A small hint of softness trickling back in to his friend’s brown, watery eyes. It gives the soldier hope as he continues to press on. “With what little I’ve learned about Peter, he’s probably down there right now, waiting at the door for you…Don’t do this to him, Tony. The officers are on their way...”

As if on cue, six crew members march in to the suite, including the master-at-arms, carrying a pair of handcuffs in his grasp. Steve thinks fast, praying Tony follows his lead so they could end this once and for all.

“Obadiah Stane, you’re being arrested for substantial evidence of thievery, kidnapping and attempted murder-“

“Correction,” Tony interjects, slow to lower the gun and face the men in uniform, eyes flickering back to Steve a few times with returned clarity. “He _is_ a murderer.”

“This is outrageous!” Obadiah cries out, struggling against the Captain’s hold when he sees where things are headed. “These fools are trying to frame me!”

Tony’s staggering, coupled together with the gun dropping to the floor with a thud, puts the nail in the coffin; the villain’s words don’t hold a candle to the trauma written on the widower’s face.

Without another word, the master-at-arms takes over, throwing handcuffs on Obadiah and forcing him out of the suite with the rest of the other crew members.

“This isn’t over-” Stane hollers, dragging his feet and locking eyes with the millionaire. “This isn’t over, Tony! You hear me!?”

The moment the door slams shut, Tony falls to his knees.

Steve finds the nearest lamp to bring light in to the room again before moving back to his friend.

“Easy, easy…” he murmurs, wishing he had Peter’s capabilities in calming the man down. A helpless feeling washes over the soldier as Tony works for each breath…until he tries redirecting the millionaire.

“Hey,” he says, laying a hand on the man’s trembling back, “What do you say we go get your kid back.”

It takes a second, but there’s a little nod in reply. “Yeah?” Steve continues.

“Yeah.”

Another pause and Tony’s standing without assistance, Steve encouraging him every step of the way, though he’s new to such tenderness towards his comrade.  

“Oohhh, I’m really regretting not taking out his knee cap,” Tony sighs, propping an elbow against a nearby wall. “Just in self-defense, you know? Who knows…maybe it would’ve helped speed up the recovery process.”

Steve gives a side smile, turning his gaze to the floor. _There’s the Tony he knows._

“I have a feeling, the moment you see the kid’s face, it’ll cure what ails you.”

The millionaire raises an eyebrow at this, unable to refute such a truth, and really, why would he want to at this point? That boy was finally going to be his. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

_And yet…_

He never could’ve foreseen an even greater adversary pounding at his door in the very next moment.

A different officer stands to greet him at the entrance, face pale with sweat as he stammers out a message. “The Captain r-requests your presence, sir.”

Tony furrows his brow, “Sorry, what? The Captain? “

“Yes, sir.”

“The captain of the ship…wants to see me? In the middle of the night?”

The man leans in close, bringing a hand up to guard his words. “We’ve struck an iceberg, sir…about ten minutes ago.”

It blindsides him, shredding through the many dreams he’s kept hidden away for a future with Peter Benjamin Parker…threatening a far worse outcome than any spoken word his previous foe could’ve come up with.

Another five minutes and he and Steve are in the Captain’s quarters. Blueprints lie scattered across the table as a Mr. Thomas Andrews, the Titanic’s designer, explains what is about to happen.

“Water... fourteen feet above the keel in ten minutes. In the forepeak, in all three holds and in the boiler room six,” he says.

Tony doesn’t need more than a few glances at the illustrations of the ship to grasp the situation.

_How had he not felt it? Where was the crash? The sharp turn?_

It dawns on him then. The fight…

 He would not have felt anything unusual whilst brawling with Obadiah.

“That's five compartments!” Andrews continues, “She can stay afloat with the first four compartments breached, but not five…not five. As she goes down by the head, the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads at E deck from one to the next. Back and back. There's no stopping it.”

“Stark?” Captain Smith murmurs in a last-ditch effort for hope.

Tony gives him the opposite, withdrawing from the circle of men until his back hits the wall near the door. “It’s over, Cap’n,” he replies grimly, “There’s no arguing with mathematical certainty.”

“This is bad,” Steve says, throwing his coat back on. “We need to start helping passengers in to the boats. How many are on board?”

An uncomfortable silence falls on the small room, those privy to the information reluctant to voice it.

“There are 2,200 souls on board, sir,” the first officer replies.

“And lifeboats?” Tony adds with an edge in his tone.

“Twenty…sir.”

The millionaire turns to look around the room at each face, ending on the ship’s owner, Mr. Bruce Ismay, who stands with mouth gaping beneath his thick, elaborate mustache. “So, you tell the people that she’s unsinkable…you tell them that they’re safe…” he says, moving to the startled man until their noses nearly touch, “But this was never about people’s safety, was it? Not with elitists like you and I in charge.”

 

_The ship was sinking._

_Dear God, the ship was actually sinking._

_And the kid…he promised the kid…_

All at once he remembers the sheer panic on Peter’s face when first stepping aboard the Titanic.

 

_My kid’s alone._

_My kid’s in steerage._

_My kid’s afraid of the water._

“Peter.”

Blind to everyone and everything, Tony sprints from the room like a madman, heading for the lifts like his life depends on it…

…because it absolutely does.

………………………….

 

_12:00am – E deck_

Peter lies underwater four decks below.

Letting out a long exhale, he watches the bubbles race to the surface of the tub, coming up for air with a splash when a heavy rumble vibrates in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he grips the sides of the bath, listening again for the odd noise coming directly below the floor.  
_Had he imagined it?_  
When the groaning sound pauses long enough, he smooths back dripping wet curls and rubs his face with the warm water, willing his body to relax as he finishes bathing.

There are only two bathtubs to share between seven hundred steerage passengers.

With nobody else waiting for it at such a late hour, and no ability to sleep, he should, at least, take advantage of the warmth on such a chilly night.

 

_Mr. Stark would be back soon, and_ _it’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing._

  
The noise returns louder this time and Peter's fingers fly back to the tub’s sides again, wide eyes darting to the ceiling and over to the towel lying folded on the wooden chair to his right.

  
_Something's wrong..._

_And Mr. Stark hasn’t come for him yet..._

_What’s taking so long?_  
He knows the sounds aren't his imagination.  
Something's definitely wrong....

 

Panic sets in the moment he watches the bath water tip slowly towards the other end of the tub, immersing his toes, pressed up just beneath the faucet.  
"What..." he whispers, frozen in place as it begins to pour out just over the edge.

 

_Water's always level._

He remembers hearing the simple fact from his mother’s lips as a little child.

Adrenaline hits hard in his veins. "Water's always level..."  
Saying it out loud brings goosebumps all over his body as he rushes to pull the plug before any more can flood out.

  
_…The ship is tilting..._

_…The ship is tilting..._

_…It’s the ship..._

_…not the water..._

_…water's always level._

_…The noises are real…_

  
He all but leaps from the bath, slipping on the tile as he makes a dash for the towel, wrapping it around himself and throwing open the door to check down the hall.  
When he doesn't see any passengers, he speeds through drying and dressing himself in a simple pair of checked trousers, white shirt and a cable knit vest before heading back to his room, pausing to clutch the wall when another deep groan erupts beneath the carpeted walkway.

 

_…Mr. Stark-Mr. Stark-Mr. Stark…_

“Laddie!!”

Peter jumps at the call, whirling around as the Giant Irishman he’d met the night prior comes running towards him with a few bags and a young woman grasping tightly to his tunic.

“They be tellin’ us to get dressed and meet with the ship’s staff…routine check and all tha’,” he says, leaning in to whisper the rest in the teenager's ear, “But sure an’ I’ll not be trustin’ any of it. Did ye not hear those crackin’ sounds a wee bit ago? She’s sinkin’, lad…”

Peter nods, swallowing back nausea. He’s good and ready to wake up from this nightmare.

_Just a dream…Its not real…Just a really bad dream…Safe…Just a-_

“Aye, he’s goin’ down! Catch him!”

The last thing Peter sees is the blaring lights of the ceiling before his eyes roll back in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes out from rock* Hey guys, I’m sorry for the delay!! I truly wish that I had more for you, especially since you’ve waited for month! But I needed to cut it off there. You won’t have to wait that long for the next chapter!! <3 Thank you for your patience!  
> This chapter was another hard one for me and if I’m honest, I felt like it wasn’t even my kind of writing…maybe because fighting scenes intimidate me and I was a bit out of my element. I hope you’ll forgive me if it stunk! T^T My insecure self is trembling!! Lol  
> Also, it should be noted that most people on board had no clue that Titanic had struck an iceberg at first. That is why I chose to go about it this way. (Plus dramatics and emotions are well on their way. 0_0)  
> On another note, I am going to TRY posting an illustration for every chapter. I will be going back and putting the other ones from my tumblr blog on here as well, so I hope you’ll look forward to that.


	9. Only for a Little While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony catches the gaze of another boy around Peter's age just as he's dragged down the hall...time stands still as he studies his straight black hair, tawny brown skin and plump frame.   
> They look nothing alike...this boy and his soon-to-be son...  
> And yet, he's seen that same terrified expression on Peter's face many times before...  
> And he can't fix it...can't help anyone on this cursed vessel...  
> More than half the passengers were going to die tonight. Would this poor boy be one of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that started it all, my friends! The chapter I’ve waited to write from the moment I started this crazy thing! I took a lot of liberties in this, just to forewarn. You will see parallels and familiar aspects of both the Titanic movie and Tony and Peter’s relationship in the MCU, but I’m REALLY hoping it only enhances your reading experience rather than hinders.
> 
> To put it simply…this is the chapter where this author does whatever the heck she wants, so hopefully its what you want to. XD
> 
> The music I used to write for this is from the Titanic ost called, “Unable to Stay, Unwilling to go.” It is one of the most emotional pieces of music I’ve ever listened to.
> 
> AND FINALLY!
> 
> I am dedicating this chapter to my brand-new sister-in-law, Laura…Who actually reads this stuff without questioning my sanity (at least out loud… Hehe) and who understands, more than anyone, the vast and overwhelming love an adoptive daddy carries for his son. <3

…………………………………………….

 

Chapter 9: Only for a Little While

 

_April 15th, 1912_

_12:30am_

"I've been given strict orders to keep these gates locked until further-"

Tony jerks the crew member's collar towards him before he can finish, "Focus up, poltroon," he growls through his teeth, "My son is down there, and if I have to break your face in order to get to him, that’s on you!"

He rips the man over towards the lock and releases him with a forceful shove, "Now, you open up this gate, or I'm gonna lose it."

A few other crew members arrive to pull him backwards and Tony is true to his word, grabbing the gate with both hands and giving it a violent shake. “Peter!!"

"Get back, sir! Get back or we will detain you!"

"Peter!!...Peter Parker!!" Tony's voice barely carries above the other shouts from the crowd of steerage passengers trapped on the other side. Those closest to him turn to see if the boy is amongst them, a few men at the back of the stairwell even go to search for the millionaire's boy, each having their own reasons, be it compassion or incentive for escaping to the top deck.

Tony catches the gaze of another boy around Peter's age just as he's dragged down the hall...time stands still as he studies his straight black hair, tawny brown skin and plump frame.

They look nothing alike...this boy and his soon-to-be son...

And yet, he's seen that same terrified expression on Peter's face many times before...

_And he can't fix it...can't help anyone on this cursed vessel..._

_More than half the passengers were going to die tonight. Would this poor boy be one of them?_

_Not Peter._

_Not Peter._

_Not Peter._

"Go back down the main stairwell, and everything will be sorted out there."

"We will give you all further instructions once it’s time to load the lifeboats."

"There's no need to panic."

Tony wants to throw up as he listens to the lies...the false promises sure to decrease some of the more chaotic casualties. He waits until they reach the other side of the lower deck to rip himself away from the officers' hold, kicking one of them in the kneecap and punching the other one in the jaw before he's running back in the other direction, searching for other ways down to E deck before it's too late. "Hang on, Pete. I'm coming," he says, hoping, somehow, it reaches where it needs to go.

…………………

_12:40am_

Peter comes to on a wooden bench in the third-class general room. His sluggish eyelids blink again and again as they work to focus on something...anything to help revive him, but instead his ears provide the answers.

There’s yelling first...the many cries of distress...and then the dying groans of the ship before he realizes he's still trapped in this nightmare. But this was no bad dream back at the manor...and Mr. Stark wasn't-

He bolts to a sitting position and grabs his head, swallowing down the nausea and losing the fight as he retches on to the brand-new carpet beneath his feet. Somebody sits beside him and pats his back but the hands are far too big to be his guardian’s and he's _scared...he's so scared..._

"I need...to get to...A-deck," he says to the familiar Irishman, grateful for the man's selfless care, and wishing there was a way to repay him.

The black bearded man shakes his head, moving his hand to Peter's shoulder. "They've gone and locked us in, laddie. Sure an' none of us'll be gettin' out without a fight."

Peter wonders if that's the man's plan as he listens to his resolute tone, pinching his folded hands between his thighs to keep them still.

_Trapped-Trapped-Trapped._

"Me friend, Paddy says the cabins are already knee deep in that cursed water below us. At any rate, we're not meant to be dying in our sleep, aye?" the man continues, smiling in a feeble attempt to drive back the hopelessness.

Peter's just about to feel another wave of sickness crash over him when he remembers what's still down in his room beneath the bed.

_Mr. Stark's case._

_Oh, please, no... this can't be happening...this can't be..._

_The millionaire had not revealed anything about its mysterious contents on the night before carrying out their plan, only that Obadiah would never suspect Tony of switching it with Peter's case before he forced him down to steerage._

_"I put some blankets on the inside, just in case he surprises us and does some snooping," Tony had said, "Don't open it, alright? Absolutely no peeking._

_"What...exactly are you putting me in charge of," Peter had replied, eyes wider than saucers, "Are you sure you should be letting me-"_

_"I wouldn't be going forward with this if I wasn't a hundred percent sure of how capable you are," Tony interjects, pinching the boy's blushing cheek. "Just keep a sharp eye on it for me, kid. Who knows...we may need it."_

_"What is it?"_

Tony had only given a smile in reply.

"I have to go down there," Peter whispers, turning to look at the taller passenger and rising to his feet, "I gotta...I gotta go down there, sir." Perhaps if he says it enough, he'll follow through.

"Ye can't be serious, laddie," the other man says, shaking his head, "Sure an' t'isn't anythin' worth yer life down them stairs."

Peter squashes down the man's advice, plagued with guilt in not taking better care of what he's been tasked with. For all he knows, the case could hold Tony's entire life inside, and he wasn't about to fail his father figure now.

"Sir...If I'm not back up in ten minutes...if someone comes down looking for a 'Peter Parker'...can you tell him where I am?" the teenager asks, hoping the man didn't have any intention of stopping him.

The other passenger brings his hands behind his head, worry lines forming on his brow as he glances down to the E-deck arrows. "Aye," he replies against his better judgement, "Does me head in, it does! Hurry yer wee arse back and don't go killin' yerself, now!"

Peter nods and bolts to the nearest stairwell, following the signs to his cabin with terror driven speed.

And then he sees the flooding. It does, indeed, seem to be about knee deep and he knows that every second he stalls is putting him in greater danger.

He takes three deep breaths and plunges down in to it. Nothing could've possibly prepared him for the pain that shoots up through his legs when they're submerged under the freezing cold.

He doesn't hold back the loud gasps that escape from his throat as he half wades, half runs down the narrow halls towards his destination. “Oh, that’s cold…So cold…so cold…" he breathes out, pushing himself to move faster when he sees his door come in to view.

He grabs the knob and twists it, breathing a sigh of relief when it turns and opens with ease. The case sits submerged beneath the bed, and Peter prays that whatever is inside remains intact as he dives forward to grab it.

His hands and arms dip in to the icy water and it brings him to panting; it’s only a second after when his teeth begin to chatter uncontrollably. All he wants to do is bolt back to the stairs, but his body wants out of this torture and he's climbing on to his bed before he can stop himself, if only to get a few seconds of relief. "Okay-okay-alright, ready?" he coaches himself, gripping the case tight against his chest and forcing himself back in to the water.

He makes a run for it; the flooding makes him feel more and more lethargic as he moves, much like the dreams he's had where he can't out run what's chasing him.

_Lost..._

For a moment nothing looks familiar and there's no direction in sight. Every hall looks identical...every corridor leads down and not up.

"Hello?" his trembling voice calls, "Hello!!?"

He can feel the hysteria creeping behind his neck, ready to consume and overtake every thought, but he fights it by talking out loud some more. "Okay, come on, Peter. Think...think."

A cry halts his flight to safety, barely there over the sound of rushing water. A child...far younger than himself, by the sound of it.

"Hey!!" Peter calls, "Where are you!?"

He forgets about his own fears in a blink. Another cry helps him better locate the source as he pushes himself against the rushing water before rounding another corner.

"Daaaaddy!!!"

Peter finds the door, only to find it locked as the water rises up to his thighs. "H-hang on! I'll get you out!" he calls against the painted wood, "What's your name?"

Another whimper, "Daisy!"

"Daisy? I'm Peter...Everything's gonna be f-fine!" Peter replies, glancing around for anything to help him free the little girl. "I gotta...I just gotta find something to break down the door!"

"I want my daddy!"

Peter leans his head against the frame, staring down at his shaking hand as he works to collect himself again, "Yeah...Yeah, I know the feeling," he murmurs under his breath with brown eyes searching.

And then he spots an axe in a case only a mere twenty feet away and hope returns to his numbing frame. He stumbles and splashes towards it, using the case to smash the glass as he tears it off the wall.

Another burst of flooding sprays in to the hall as it climbs to his waist and Peter knows the little girl has precious seconds before it's over her head. "Daisy, I'm gonna get you out, but I need you to back away from the door. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," comes the timid reply.

Peter doesn't wait, praying the child was well out of the way as he swings the axe with all his might. His arms struggle with the heavy tool, but he finally makes a small hole through the wood near the door knob.

"Help!!" the little girl cries, and it's the push Peter needs to keep going.

"Hang on! Almost there!" he replies, swinging the axe a final time and letting it drop to his feet when he hears the lock break.

The girl screams again and Peter pushes hard against the door, relieved to see the child was close enough to grab through the narrow opening.

When he succeeds in pulling her to him, she climbs up his waist, wrapping tiny arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

Peter has no time to look her over for injuries, content with knowing she was still alive as he forces his way against the ever-increasing strength of the water.

"I've got you. I've got you," he soothes when he hears her cry. He grabs the case he'd braced with his foot and takes off again towards what he can only hope, is a way out from the frigid cold.

Taking a sharp right leads them both to a stairwell leading up to D-deck.

The moment Peter's limbs are out of the water, they want to collapse out from under him, but he presses on, climbing the steps with the little girl and suitcase still in hand.

Only, there's a gate blocking their exit when they reach the top.

"Oh, come on," Peter groans, feeling his burden getting heavier by the second. He sets Daisy down on the top step, placing the case next to her as he tries calling out for help.

"Hello!? Is anyone down here!?" he calls through the iron bars, rattling them in the hopes that someone will hear it. "Help us!!"

Daisy starts to cry again and it's oddly grounding, dissolving another panic episode in order to stay strong for his new charge.

"Anybody!! Hello!!"

 

_"Peter!!"_

 

His heart skips a beat.

"Mr. Stark!!?"

_Had he imagined it?_

_He must have imagined it...and yet..._

"I'm down here!!" he cries again, voice cracking with desperation. "Mr. Stark, Over here!!"

And then the most beautiful sight in the whole wide world comes in to view and he's thrusting his arms through the bars as he feels the familiar hands of his guardian pulling him in to an awkward embrace through the barrier between them.

"Oh, thank God," he hears Tony breathe in to his ear.

"Mr. Stark," he whimpers, and he wonders why he can't say more, just cling on to those arms for dear life.

"I'm here," Tony says, pulling one of his arms back out from the gate so he can snake it through a little higher to reach Peter's curls. "I'm right here."

"We're stuck," the teen says, and it occurs to Tony that they aren't alone.

The millionaire turns away again to see the little girl sitting on the stairs next to his boy.

He guesses her to be about six or seven years old. She holds a soft, cloth doll under her arm and looks up at him with watery green eyes. Her tiny face is covered in freckles and her ginger hair is pulled back in pigtails with pretty, white bows.

His wife's early school portraits flash through his mind as he identifies the similarities.

"I'm gonna get you out," he says, looking around for something to break down the fence.

"What's your name?"

When she doesn't reply, Peter says it for her. "Daisy."

"Daisy? You're safe now, alright?" Tony replies, "The kid calls me Mr. Stark, but Tony's fine too if that floats your boat."

The millionaire cringes, "That was ill timed," he adds, moving again to glance down the hall. "There's gotta be something we can-"

"The axe!" Peter remembers, "It's just down there. I can get it!"

He turns back to the lower deck swallowing and balling up his fists.

"No, stop!!" Tony shouts, "You stay here. I'll go get some help."

"No, Mr. Stark. This is faster."

The boy gives his guardian one last look of apology before descending in to the water below, it passes just below his chest now, knocking the wind out of him as he works his way back to where he had found the girl.

"Peter!! Peter!!" Tony calls, kicking the gate when his boy goes out of sight.

He holds back a curse, if only for the innocent expression still looking up at him, and bends himself down to her level, gesturing for her to come closer to the gate as he watches the water climb the steps.

"C'mon, Pete. C'mon..." he whispers, bracing himself as he holds his breath.

Another loud rumble bounces off the wall just then and Tony can only imagine what's about to happen next. Daisy dives for his hand, her need for reassurance outweighing her fear of strangers. "You’re alright, honey," Tony says, pulling her as close as he can, "...hang on."

More creaking...another loud moan from the walls before rapids burst hard into the stairwell.

Daisy screams and pulls at Tony's clothes, but the millionaire stands frozen in place, unable to process what he's seeing.

_He can't yell._

_He can't cry._

_There's nothing...because there's no air in his lungs._

And then something else is swept on to the stairs and when he sees its a person, his limbs move on instinct back in to a standing position.

The human form coughs as it surfaces, climbing up to grab the step that’s in front of him before the water can pull him back under.

"Peter!!" Tony cries, fuming at the barrier still keeping him from his kid.

Peter's drenched form rises a little higher and the axe comes in to view, tight in his fist as he tries to climb eight more steps to the top.

"I g-g-got it, M-Mr. S-S-Stark," he says, moving Daisy behind him.

He lifts the axe over his shoulder and drives it down on to the metal, attempting it a few more times with no results.

"Kid, slide it over to me, come on!" Tony says, hating the way the teenager shakes all over and stands there whiter than the walls.

When Peter tries to lift it again, it takes everything out of him, but he gets it to fit through the bars with Tony's help.

"Alright, back up!" he tells them, waiting for Peter to take Daisy aside until they’re well enough away.

The water reaches closer every second, it's already hitting Peter's calves again and Tony estimates another two minutes before it consumes them. The teen lifts Daisy up with sheer will power, unable to keep a good grip on her as she holds herself against him.

The sound of metal clashing against metal echoes down the halls as Tony hits the gate over and over again. This time he can't keep a string of curses from pouring out of his lips as he loses more and more hope with each swing.

"It's okay!" he screams to them, knowing it's a lie.

"Almost there!" he promises, knowing the gate isn’t budging.

"Mr. Stark...What do we do!? What do you want me to do!?" Peter says.

It crushes Tony as he continues to fight.

He’s about to watch his boy drown...watch him succumb to his biggest fear and die the same exact way his parents had.

"Kid-" and his voice sounds so unconvincing that he decides it would've been better to have said nothing, as he watches Peter's gaze flash with understanding.

"K-k-keep trying, Mr. Stark! D-don't g-give up, sir, please!!

Tony feels the water rush over his legs as if to tell him the opposite, attempting to keep him from rescuing what he loves most in this world.

Another man comes running down the hall wearing the same exact expression as his own and he somehow knows it’s the girl’s father.

“Daisy!!” the other man yells, and it throws his daughter in to a fit when she sees him.

“Daddy!! Daddy!!” she cries, wriggling out of Peter’s hold to get to him.

The man grabs for his daughter, but Tony pulls him back, “There’s no time!” the millionaire says, “Help me find something to bust it open!”

“Wait!” Daisy’s father digs in to his giant coat pockets, taking out a bobby pin and holding it up for Tony to see. “What about this?”

The millionaire lifts an eyebrow, but he’s desperate enough to try it, bending it back with his teeth and hunching down to peer in to the keyhole.

“Sir, p-p-please, hurry!” Peter cries, lifting the girl up higher, “I c-c-can’t hold her much longer.”

Water covers over the lock, but Tony feels around and drives the pin through it, hoping his ability to pick locks hasn’t completely vanished along with the days of his youth. “Please…” he whispers, “Come on…come on…”

He can only describe the sudden ‘click’ sound as nothing short of miraculous. Both fathers force back the sides with all their might as the water is forced to give its prize back to the rightful owners.

Tony notices the suitcase for the first time in Peter’s possession as he helps him and the others around the crew and up towards the boat deck. “Tell me that case isn’t the reason you almost drowned a moment ago,” he says to the teen as they weave in and out of the cramped walkways.

“You s-said it was important,” Peter replies, clutching it to his chest when two passengers almost plow him over.

“Uh, Does the suitcase keep me company?” Tony asks.

“What? What are you-”

“No, I’m being serious…I promise this isn’t rhetorical,” the older man pulls Peter closer towards him to dodge another panicked group of people, “Does the suitcase laugh at my jokes…or bake me things that are out of this world? The thing doesn’t even have any hair to ruffle.

“Alright, I get it,” Peter replies, too exhausted to carry on with their usual banter.

Tony catches a crew member with a stack of blankets and takes three, thanking him before throwing two over the boy’s shoulders and tossing another to Daisy’s father. “We gotta get you warmed up, kid.”

“Gentlemen,” the father calls when they reach the promenade deck.

Peter and Tony stop too, turning when they hear his voice behind them.

“My family,” he says, pointing to what must be his wife and second daughter. They stand a ways off in the distance, holding each other close as they wait for his return. “I must see them to safety…I can never repay you both for saving my daughter’s life.”

Tony smiles, “Yeah, but who brought the bobby pins to the party?” he asks, receiving a shy grin in return.

“God speed to you both,” says the man, leaning in to give them both a firm handshake. Daisy brings her hand out as well and Peter takes it in his own, bending down to give it a gentle kiss.

“Stay safe, little Daisy,” the boy murmurs.

And then they part without another word…

Peter gives them one final wave before running in to Jarvis next.

“Tea, sir?” the unflappable valet asks, lifting a small tray of steaming cups and moving it to his right before they can be dumped in the chaos.

“Jarvis, buddy…I could kiss you,” Tony cries.

“When one thinks of the chasmal divide between our classes, sir, I could not, in good conscious, advise such an uncivilized gesture…and yet you’ve never been one to follow the rules of conduct.

“Right you are, Mr. Holmes,” Tony tries in his best English accent.

Peter wishes he could smile.

 

……………………….

_1:30 am_

"Over here, sit," Tony orders, gesturing to the bench leaning up against the first-class entrance nearest to the lifeboats. Peter crashes down on to it, shivers wracking his frame as Tony adjusts several blankets tighter around his charge, gliding his hands up and down thin arms to contribute more warmth.

"Hang tight for a second, kid. I'm gonna figure out what's going on," he says after a moment.

Crowds of people squish together like cattle, everyone searching for the same reassurance that they were going to make it out alive. Tony shuffles his way in, pushing past a sea of fur coats, top hats and bulky lifebelts until he spots Daisy and the rest of her family.

"Sir!" the father calls, reaching a hand out for Tony to grab. "They're taking the women and children only at the moment," he says with a grim expression. "How old is your boy?"

Tony stares ahead at the ones being loaded to safety before their eyes meet again.  "Fifteen."

Daisy's father presses his lips together at the information, staring down at his own tiny child with unshed tears. "Well...have him stand here, anyway. It’s likely they'll let him on. I wouldn't have guessed fifteen, sir."

Tony chest heaves, taking on despair like the ship takes on water.

“Can you take my son?” he asks the officer in charge of the boat, feeling his heart burn in agony.

“How old?” the officer asks.

"Twelve,” Daisy’s dad interrupts.

Tony looks at him, blinking…feeling his mouth go bone dry.

"Or at least he will be in May, right cousin?" the other man tries again, picking up his daughter and holding her close.

Tony falters, for under a second, "In June." he replies, eyes shining with gratitude.

"Right, then he's just at the limit,” the officer says, “Go on, get him in then. Where is the lad?”

Tony stumbles backwards, willing his hands to stop shaking as he prepares himself to let go.

“He’s j-just over here, half a moment,” he stutters before turning back to retrieve Peter, finding him huddled close to Jarvis when he returns.

The valet stands when he sees the other man, leaning in and cupping the side of his mouth so Tony will hear him. "Sir, shall I go back to the room for a thicker blanket for the boy?" his valet asks, unphased when Tony puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm-uh...letting you off the hook tonight," the millionaire replies as nonchalant as possible, "…aside from finding yourself a place on one of these boats, understand?"

They both share a glance of admiration towards each other and Tony brings out his hand for Jarvis to clasp on to. "I'm gonna take him and-" he doesn't finish the sentence when Peter glances up at him. Jarvis gives a firm nod and hesitates to let go of his grip on his employer's arm. "It has been an absolute honor, sir...serving you all these years," he replies in stoic fashion, and Tony feels like crushing him in to a hug, holding back only for Peter’s sake.

When he looks at his kid again, he knows a blow to the gut would feel better.

"Come stand here with me, bud.”

Tony grabs for Peter’s hand and the boy looks down in confusion.

It’s an odd thing for his guardian to do, and it makes the teen feel as if he’s decreased in age, but it has an instant calming effect that he can’t deny as he’s pulled towards the crowd.

They wait in a group of families for some time, ignoring the pins and needles feeling in their legs as their icy clothes continue to bite.

Peter catches Daisy and her sibling being loaded next.

"Daddy,” the sister cries, wrenched away from her father as an officer brings her in to the lifeboat with the mother.

"It’ll be fine, darling. Don’t you worry,” the father says to her.

"Daddy, get in the boat,” Daisy begs, reaching out her tiny hand.

“It's goodbye for a little while...only for a little while. They'll be another boat for the daddies, this boat's for the mommies and the children. You hold mommy’s hand and be a good little girl.”

“Woman and children only!!” another officer cries above the disorder.

Dread washes over Peter, looking down to see Tony squeezing his hand far too tight as they inch closer and closer to the lifeboat…and then, there's no one else in front of them.

"You too, half-pint," Tony says.

"What?" Peter tilts his head sharply towards his guardian, mouth dropping and brows rising as he figures out what’s about to happen. He tries ripping his hand out of the millionaire’s, but Tony only squeezes tighter, keeping him firmly in place.

"Listen to me, bud,” Tony murmurs.

"No!"

"Yes, Peter."

"I'm not leaving here without you!"

The boy is stunned.

After everything they’ve gone through…after working so hard to stay together...

"I'm gonna be just fine!” Tony says, “I got a plan, alright?"

"Liar!" Peter yells, backing away. "You're a liar! I can see it in your eyes!"

"Kid, here’s how this is gonna go. You get in that boat, or I'm gonna have this officer force you into it.”

Tony gestures towards the officer standing closest to them and the teenager locks eyes with the crew member; tremors shoot down his spine as he pulls harder to free himself from Tony’s hold.

When he sees there’s no way out, he crashes in to the millionaire instead, clutching on to his coat with a vice-like grip, "I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go, sir, please," he begs. “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”

"Pete, listen. Would you just listen to me for a second?" Tony says, pulling away and grabbing the boy's arms to steady him. "I’ll be right behind you, alright?

Peter shakes his head hard in protest, a whine of anguish forcing its way out of his mouth.

The older man glances up right as Steve returns to join them, his chiseled face is weary from the hopeless atmosphere.

"Cap's got a way to get us out of here too, right, Rogers?"

Peter looks to Steve with tears streaming down his face.

The soldier doesn’t miss a beat, giving the boy a calm smile and ruffling his curls, "It's all arranged, son. Listen to Tony."

He feels the officer pulling on his sleeve, and he grips so tightly to Tony's fingers it hurts them both.

The millionaire pries them off as Peter's pulled into the lifeboat. He gives the boy a small nod as hands pull him down to a seat.

"Pete," Tony calls, "You know I love-."

"Stop," Peter interjects, " Don’t say it yet. Tell me when we're both safe.”

_I’m not making it that easy for you._

The older man nods in understanding, eyes red, but warm as he forces a small smile.

“Lower away!” an officer yells, giving the signal with his hands as the lifeboat jolts and begins its descend.

Peter startles at the motion, never letting Tony from his sight.

He takes in the sound of the creaking ropes, the shouted orders and chaos. His head turns to see Daisy and her family openly weeping up at their father, who now stands quiet next to Tony and Steve.

A flare flies high in the sky, the lights falling behind his guardian like shooting stars as he gets further and further out of reach.

_He didn’t say it. He didn’t say it. What if he never gets the chance?_

He remembers his own words to Tony upon boarding the ship and he knows they still hold true.

_“The only thing scarier than staying on this boat, is being apart from you."_

_He meant it…_

_He still feels it…_

_…terror of never seeing Tony again._

_I can’t live without him._

_I can’t-I can’t-I can’t._

His wide eyes catch the lower deck coming within range and he makes a split-second decision, instinct taking over as he stands and climbs over huddled passengers to leap back on to the ship.

“PETER, NO!! STOP HIM!!” he can here Tony yelling his name…he can hear the horrified tone, but he doesn’t care.

His arms give up from his own weight and his legs dangle from the side, but a few men, standing by, swing them safely back over and on to Titanic’s floors.

And then he’s running…

He doesn’t know where…

Just that he needs him… _He needs..._

“Dad!!”

The name comes out more naturally than air.

It’s been lying dormant on his tongue long before adoption talks…well prior to improvised lullabies, tickle fights and sharing chocolate cake.

It was sown there long ago, one fateful night after giving a stranger a stale blueberry scone as a small token of thanks.

Tony was made to be Peter’s father…

Peter was born to be Tony’s son.

_Simple._

_And if this was the only night they had together as a family, well then, he’s willing to die for it._

He doesn’t know where he is when he hears his own name echoing in the distance. He only knows that there’s a giant light above him and grand stairs when he finally sees what he wants.

“Dad!!...Dad!!”

“Peter!!”

The two collide together.

The millionaire nearly lifts the teen off the ground, kissing both his cheeks and squeezing him tight against his chest before pulling the kid away and shaking him hard.

“You dummy!!? What were you thinking!!?” He grabs the sides of Peter’s face and shakes him again, “Why!! Why did you do that!!? Huh!? Why!!?"

Peter can’t say anything, clutching his father’s waistcoat and shaking with adrenaline. He’s taken aback when he hears Tony’s sniffles, knowing his guardian’s crying as well.

"Did you just call me, dad?...Huh?"

Peter stiffens but nods vigorously against Tony’s shoulder, another sob ripping from his throat.

Tony holds him tighter, kissing his forehead and smoothing back his son's messy curls. "Gosh, I love you, bud. I love you so much."

“I’m sorry." Peter says. “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay," Tony's chest swells, "And just so we’re clear…you’re grounded. Forever.”

“There’s no plan…is there…”

“We’ll make one,” Tony replies, and Peter truly believes it.

And that’s when the millionaire remembers the suitcase he abandoned on the boat deck…

………………………………

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uugghh, Our little duo is already hurting my heart! And I’m the writer! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and haven’t fainted from emotions!!
> 
> Quick thoughts: I just wanted to note that I do understand, though, Peter is young in the MCU, he would most likely not have been allowed onboard a lifeboat, or at the very least, they may have questioned it, but do remember that my AU Peter is based a little of Thomas Nickerson(Tom Holland’s character in The Heart of the Sea), so he’s pretty small and, in my opinion, could’ve passed as twelve.
> 
> Also, if anyone was actually wanting to know why Daisy was by her self when the flooding happened, she went back to get her dolly when her parents were seeking a way of escape. I thought about adding it in to the story, but deemed it unnecessary. (Hopefully I made the right call. ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!!! I look forward to every single review and kudos I get!!!! You guys are so wonderful and I don’t deserve you!!!


	10. Nearer to Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad…the stars…” Peter murmurs, tired brown eyes blinking slowly up at the night sky, “…They’re so clear up th-…Let’s just…Can we sit down for a second?”  
> The boy's ears catch the ship's band playing a soothing version of Nearer My God to Thee somewhere off in the distance and he doesn't wait for permission, falling against a wall bench and looking up at Tony...  
> ...and that music is just so peaceful. He just wants to listen for a second...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay, peeps. Once again, the events in this chapter were extremely difficult to write!!! However, you won’t have to wait as long on Chapter 11, as the story board is complete…if you’re brave enough to read it after this, that is. (T^T)  
> That being said, this chapter has some warnings. I promise, nothing is worse than you’ll find in a PG-13 movie, but there will be elements of death, killing and just, all around dark themes…This is a Titanic AU, lest any of you have forgotten. 
> 
> A small fact/sidenote: I read somewhere, recently, that we must keep in mind that the passengers of Titanic weren’t wearing rubber soled shoes. Most wore leather because rubber was so expensive. So, if you can imagine yourself trying to climb at a 45 degree angle while wearing bowling shoes…How utterly terrifying…  
> The more I research for this story, the deeper level of empathy I feel towards the poor victims of this tragedy.  
> Finally, thank you so much to all of the people who take the time to review and comment on my story! I am a loser for not replying to you all, but I treasure each and every one of you.

_The soul surviving criminal on the ship weaves through an easy guise of crowded panic like a snake in the grass, his battered face fuming scarlet with veins protruding from his thick neck._  
The hired lackeys and the officers keeping them captive, have all drowned minutes prior due to a rush of water crashing its way through the holding room. It had merely been a stroke of luck when the wave hit his body just right before throwing him out into the hall where he could grab a hold of a metal pipe to pull himself to safety.  
There were only two objectives now...  
…kill....and survive.  
He had turned to beast many years ago, but he's never been a starved and desperate one, until now.  
Steely blue eyes scan faces that match his prey but to no avail. There was a high probability that the pair had escaped. 

_He knows what lies in that case...and if Tony was reunited with his little cur-_  
The bald man slams his fist hard in to the nearest wall, climbing the stairs towards the promenade with a growing sense of urgency. He could only hope that his achieved goal in separating the two had stalled their plans long enough for him to get what he wants.  
He always gets what he wants...  
...one way or another.  
...............................................

 

_April 15 th, 1912_

_2:10 am_

  
It takes Tony far too long to reach the top deck again.

People swarm in frightened clusters like bees with no hive, causing the millionaire's hand to grip tighter to Peter's as he drags the boy behind him. Nothing prepares him for what he sees once they meet the open air.  
The sea water has already consumed the entire front end of the ship, beginning to tilt the stern upwards to reveal the liner's gigantic propellers.  
They had minutes.  
 The case could have easily slid down the wooden deck by now.

If it’s not still sitting by the railing, there’s no saving his kid.  
"Let’s go!!" he cries, shoving his way through, just praying that somehow the case is still there...propped...hidden...within reach...  
The sudden resistance on his arm, makes him stop and turn back to the boy, struck with the frightful sight that is his charge.  
How had he not noticed Peter's worsening condition? Was adrenaline so blinding that he's missed the ashen skin...the bluish tint of his lips?  
“Dad…the stars…” Peter murmurs, tired brown eyes blinking slowly up at the night sky, “…They’re so clear up th-…Let’s just…Can we sit down for a second?”  
The boy's ears catch the ship's band playing a soothing version of _Nearer My God to Thee_ somewhere off in the distance and he doesn't wait for permission, falling against a wall bench and looking up at Tony...  
_...and that music is just so peaceful. He just wants to listen for a second..._  
"Get up!" Tony shouts, terror in his tone. "On your feet!!"  
When Peter doesn't obey, he rips the boy up, pulling on the frozen, wet sleeves still adhering to thin arms. His heart shatters when the teenager apologizes over and over for something that's beyond his control…for forgetting the blankets on the lifeboat, for being careless.  
_‘I know,’_ Tony thinks _, ‘Your body needs sleep...warmth...care._  
_...all luxuries you can't afford if you’re to see another sun rise.’_

“Put this on,” he says, taking off his coat and helping Peter in to it.

The older man’s fears continue to grow when the teen doesn’t protest like normal, just let’s his limbs be manhandled in to sleeves as he stares longingly back at the bench.  
"Please, da-"  
"Nope. Come on, we're almost there, kid."

 

An explosion sound from deep within the belly of the ship brings more shouting and panic as the duo halts and stares at the glossy wood beneath their feet.

“What is it?” Peter breaths, sobered enough from the ominous noise.

And then another loud boom…

_and another…_

_and another…_

“Go, Pete. Go! Go! Go! Come on!”  
This time, Tony doesn't cater to Peter’s frailty…just hangs on to those clammy fingers while heading straight for what they need, hoping his charge finds the will to continue just until he can get him in to a lifeboat.  
_...just until then._  
Something forces Peter's hand away from his and he fights against the human current before he can lose the depleted teenager again.  
Relief floods in his veins when he sees the boy has a sound enough mind to grip the side rail until he can reach him.  
Only then, does Tony catch the many bodies of the dead and dying floating in the icy waters below, white lifebelts making each one indistinguishable from the rest.  
"No, don't!" he says, tearing Peter away from the edge and covering his hands over the boys ears. "Don't look at it...Don't listen. It's okay, bud."  
The millionaire could have laughed bitterly at his own words if he wasn't doing his darndest to protect; there's nothing but chaos, fear and casualties in every direction his head turns....and yet, he could say far more absurd things than this if it means keeping Peter calm until the end.  
"I'm not scared."  
Tony hears the words...sees those familiar, brown eyes staring back in to his with every bit of sincerity, as if the boy holds a newly-discovered peace in his soul since leaping back on to the doomed vessel.  
"You're with me."  
The millionaire presses his lips together, blinking and swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Dash it all, if he wasn't a fighter, he'd just wrap this kid up in his arms and go huddle down on a bench somewhere, watching the stars in their courses above before the sea pulls them down to Titanic's final resting place, and consequently, theirs’ as well.  
...But he can't do it.  
He'll gamble those last few seconds of life away in scrambling for a flicker of hope...won't surrender before the final breath is spent from his lungs.  
He gives the teen another quick kiss on the head, a response without words that means giving up was never going to be an option while he's still alive.  
"Come on," he urges, sending them both running further towards the ever ascending hull. "Come on, Pete!"  
They're climbing now, leather shoes slipping a bit as the place where they'd parted last finally comes in to view.  
It's there.  
_Dear, God. It's actually there._  
Tony doesn't even realize how heavy the doubt's been weighing on his shoulders until he sees the suitcase with his own two eyes. He lets out a puff of air when he's within reach of the leather piece of luggage sitting tucked against an indented white wall. It’s somehow nestled away from being kicked down in the fluid barrage of feet and falling passengers.  
"Hey, kid," the older man says, gearing up to get his boy off this death ride, "You still with me?"  
Peter doesn't reply even as Tony grabs the coveted item and spins them both around to continue their ascent to the back of the ship.  
They need an inconspicuous area, but there's none to be found; the older man surrenders the idea that there's any way to keep what he's about to do under wraps.

A large iron crane on the port side, facing the stern would have to suffice; it conceals them enough to minimize the chances of being mobbed, at the very least.  
The moment he stops, Peter leans himself against the curved metal surface, clutching ahold of it for dear life as his entire body works on warming itself. The tremors mixed with the slanting of the ship make it almost impossible to stand upright anymore.  
"Buddy? Listen, you gotta stay awake," his guardian says, giving his hand a squeeze before bending down to open the case. "Remember when you wanted to know what I was hiding back home at the manor? Huh?...Pete?"  
"…Yeah."  
"Time for the big reveal, kiddo."

 

A towering figure emerges from around the crane beside Peter.

"Give me the case, Tony," he says, reaching for the teen’s frail frame.

 

Tony springs up, abandoning the luggage and slamming into Obadiah before he can snatch his son away as the two of them crash hard onto the deck.  
“You lost your chance when you listened to that spineless captain, Stark.”

With no witty retorts, Tony responds by slamming his forehead into the face of his adversary.

Blood erupts from Obadiah’s nose for the second time in one night. Tony’s fury is felt with every punch, bite, knee and elbow he delivers to his punching bag of an enemy.

 

The two men begin sliding down the deck. Obadiah extends his arms pushing the crazed parent away from him and positioning his knee in between them.

 

A heave, with all his strength, sends Tony flying backwards off of him, causing a wicked smirk to form on his bruised and bloody face.

 

It quickly melts away as the millionaire collides with the case, falling with it, down the stairs and out of sight.

_"Noooo!!!"_

 

The primal scream tears through the teenager's throat as he watches Tony's body collide with other passengers and parts of the ship like a ragdoll before disappearing in to a swirling abyss of death.

 

“Damn,” Obadiah growls, rising to get towards the highest point of the ship now that his escape plan is gone.

  
Peter's mouth gapes open, silent sobs wracking from deep within his stomach.

Dry heaves take their turn as if his entire body rejects what he's just witnessed, saliva leaking down his chin and on to the tilted wood beneath his hands and knees.

  
And then rage…

  
It creeps in, unnoticed, while despair has him bound, courting hysteria to achieve its goals through the shattered teenager.  
He hasn't the strength to combat such emotion, feeling its effects burning in to his blood stream until it all but consumes him.  


Peter springs back up like a mad dog on the criminal’s heels as they reach the highest point of the stern, leaping on to Obadiah’s back with feral vehemence.

  
Screams of wild agony burn his throat as he rips at the man’s suit, driving him towards the very edge of the ship with borrowed power.  
"You killed him!! You killed him!!" he wails.  
He doesn't feel Obadiah reach back to rip out his hair, nor the blow he takes to the diaphragm when the bigger man finally brings him down. There's only Tony falling again and again in sickening repetition and it's never going to end...

His enemy’s back slams against the railing and the teenager fights harder when he sees how close he is to getting his revenge.

“Get off, you rabid little prick!!” Obadiah shouts, working to peel Peter away and gain enough leverage to throw the teen down the deck, like his father.

When he fails to do so, he tries a different tactic, climbing up and over the guard rail to dominate the situation.

Peter glares upwards, panting hard through his bared teeth and swinging his arms to try and grab Obadiah’s legs. The bulky man kicks him ruthlessly in the head to counter with mad laughter following.

“Just die already, boy!” he cries, “Go on! Say hello to your dad for me!”

The bulky man tries for another kick, losing his balance when the ship moves faster than expected. He gives one loud, horrific shriek before falling backwards off of the vessel.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut just as the man’s body pings off the massive propeller blade with a sickening thud.

A small splash among hundreds of others, make tiny, white ripples in the deep blue below…

And with this, Obadiah Stane meets his end.

 

Peter doesn’t expect an outstretched arm to grab him in the next moment…nor does he realize it’s Captain Rogers until he’s forced around to meet the soldier’s eyes.

“Kid?”

“I wanna go h-home,” he whimpers, voicing his childish needs to the trusted adult, “…w-want him…”

 

 

Steve shifts the rope he’s been carrying over to his left arm before pulling off his own lifebelt and sliding it over Peter. Calloused fingers swiftly tie the strings at the boy's sides.  
The soldier's face stays ever stoic, a few tears spilling on their own accord.

_His friend is gone._

…And now, he’s been left in charge of Tony's everything...this sweet boy…

…a boy who should’ve been his friend’s redemption, not his end.

  
He crumbles more when Peter grabs on to his waist, silent and broken with just enough fight to keep himself from falling to his death.

“I’ve got you,” is all the soldier can say, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

 

His eyes scan across the many terror-stricken children, the hopeless parents, the weeping elderly, and the quiet lovers awaiting the inevitable.  Never, in his life, has he felt such an all-consuming hopelessness.

The stern continues its vertical ascent until the soldier can feel Peter sliding downward.

He leads frozen fingers back on to the railing bars.

“Hold on, real tight!” he instructs, laying his larger hands over the boy’s, and sheltering him with his body.

Peter breathes in short, little breaths. His brown eyes widen while he works to hold himself in place, feet slipping and dangling at times as the bars begin to slant above their heads.

“Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad- “he whispers with each exhale.

“It’s almost over, son…almost over.”

The teen can feel Captain Roger’s breath tickle his ear, but the comforting words won’t reach his hysterical mind.

A thunderous crack resounds from the ship as she splits in half down the middle, her bright lights spark and flash vibrantly before every passenger is engulfed in utter darkness. Metal scrapes against metal, making a horrific keening noise, as if the Titanic, itself, now laments her own death.

The stern falls with violent force as Peter’s instincts drive him to climb up and on to the bars, vaguely aware of the hands tugging back on his lifebelt.

“No!” Steve cries, unable to brace himself from the impact of the fall as he tries to tackle the boy.

The vessel smashes back down on to the water’s surface, its last remaining smokestacks falling and rolling off the split deck like tin cans.

_And Peter’s gone._

_…nowhere to be found in the great, settling waves of splashing victims and frigid corpses._

Taking a deep breath, Steve doesn’t hesitate to leap in after him, plunging into the icy sea with reckless abandon. He has seconds before the sinking titan rips them down with it…

And if he dies trying to save his best friend’s son…

…well, was there really a better way to go?

_Help me find him, God…_

_Please, help me find Tony’s boy…_

………………………………………………….

_2:20 am_

_A flaming beacon flies upward towards the highest part of the wreckage as Titanic takes her final plunge. The unidentified light burns bright with a contrail in its wake…shooting like a flair, in hot pursuit of something it treasures more than life itself._

_But it’s missing._

_He’s missing._

_“Peter!!!” calls the flame._

_But the treasure cannot reply._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t kill me.


	11. Never Let Go till We're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony stands blanketed in white light before he catches the blurry image of a toddler running towards him. Tiny, chubby legs move in slow motion across a snowy cobblestone path...the baby-face shining with a beautiful grin just for his father...  
> …just for him.  
> But this isn't Morgan...  
> This isn't the dark-haired infant he delivered from Pepper's womb...No, he remembers those features.  
> But he does recognize these curls...these ears that jut out like little half-moons...these doe-like eyes.  
> It isn't Morgan…  
> But it is his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was way back in August when my husband came home to see me filling a bowl full of ice cubes up with water from the tap; I looked rather sheepish when we locked eyes.  
> “What are you doing?” he asked.  
> “Well…I’m working on that Titanic fic…and I guess, for writing’s sake, I want to feel even a smidgen of what these poor people went through,” I replied.  
> My husband, being the sensible man that he is, set down his wallet and keys and came along side to add his thoughts to my crazy experiment. “You’re not gonna get it cold enough,” he said, making my eyes bug out.  
> “Not cold enough!? It’s a bowl full of ice!!”  
> I was stunned to find that it was, indeed, not the right temperature…that in order to experience the pain, I would need to add a lot of salt in to the water.  
> “The salt makes it so it won’t turn to full ice,” my husband continued. We pulled out the thermometer and added what was needed before we reached 28°F (or -2°C).  
> As I stuck my hand down in that water, I wanted to cry. It was UNBEARABLE. I kept it in there as long as I possibly could, stomping my feet and screeching as it stabbed in to my skin.  
> This was my arm, guys. I took some time to really reflect on how that would feel over my entire body. I now grasp, just a bit, what it was that killed those poor men, women and children so quickly that tragic night. I was definitely humbled by the entire experience, and I think it helped my mindset in writing Titanic’ inevitable death as well as her passenger’s suffering.  
> And so, with all that said, we’ve reached the climax. The much-anticipated chapter you’ve all been dreading is here at last. Please let me know your thoughts. I love you all!!

_"Daddy!"_

_"Daaaddy!"_

_Morgan?_

_Tony stands blanketed in white light before he catches the blurry image of a toddler running towards him. Tiny, chubby legs move in slow motion across a snowy cobblestone path...the baby-face shining with a beautiful grin just for his father..._

_…just for him._

_But this isn't Morgan..._

_This isn't the dark-haired infant he delivered from Pepper's womb...No, he remembers those features._

_But he does recognize these curls...these ears that jut out like little half-moons...the_ _se_ _doe-like eyes._

_It isn't Morgan…_

_But it is his son._

_Little fingers reach out to him and Tony lifts up the giggling treasure, studying the baby clothed in white linen before it fades from his hold._

_His tongue feels like cotton as he yells out the name, hands searching for evidence of what was just here...the warmth and weight held in his arms._

_"Dad."_

_Tony startles at the voice, turning sharp to see his boy standing next to him; the teenager peers in to his soul with an angelic smile resting upon his features_ _, b_ _ut it does not reach his eyes._

_They are still sad...grieving._

_"I'm sorry," he says, backing away._

_And Tony can't explain how he catches the deeper significance of those two simple words._

_It means, 'I love you'...it means, 'This is going to hurt'...It means 'Goodbye'...'Be strong'...and 'Don't give up,' all in one._

_The older man grabs for the boy, but his hand flies right through the thin form._

_He wants to scream when Peter shakes his head in response._

_"I am never letting go of you again," Tony growls through his teeth, moving with the teen as Peter continues walking backwards._

_"Do you understand me, Peter Parker?! I will never let go. So you stay put. You wait for me, kid!!"_

_But he doesn’t..._

_Peter fades..._

_He fades and Tony screams..._

_"I’m not letting this happen!! You wait for me, kid! Wait for me. Please!!"_

_“Peter!!!”_

................................................................................

_2:19 am_

Tony's eyes snap open to utter darkness.

Screams shoot right in to his ears and he can barely make out the many bodies littered in the wreckage around him. Splintered wood, and metal are the only thing keeping him in place as his head lulls to face the stars above. They are the only lights provided to him as he feels himself being rocked hard from side to side.

He's somehow landed at the end of what is left of the promenade deck, and he can hear the water coming for him once again, titling the boat up to feast upon the lives that remain on board.

Iron shrieks and rumbles all around as adrenaline drives Tony to his feet.

Everything hurts as he dabs at a fresh gash near his temple, but he’s still in one piece…no doubt littered with bruises and cuts from the long fall he’s just experienced.

He can scarcely believe it when his adjusted vision makes out the suitcase pinned beneath the body of a passenger next to him. They both slide just as the ship continues to climb for the second time and the millionaire has to be quick in catching the item before it flies down past him, in to the approaching rapids.

_Seconds._

_He has seconds…_

"Come on-come on-come on-come on-" Tony pants through his teeth, climbing as high as he can before propping himself against a wall.

He throws open the lid of the case which holds an ultra-light prototype invention, pulling out the, reinforced leather jacket with a large contraption attached to the back. Tony slides his arms through the sleeves, putting on an armored leather helmet with illuminated eye ports.

Yanking up the heavy-duty zipper in the front, he straps the thick buckles across his chest. The gloves attached to the jacket hum to life as he feels the vibrations from the alcohol turbines, fueled from the rocket device, now, fully attached to his back.

The ship plummets just as he's thrust in to the air, flying straight up to where he can only guess his kid to be.

_Please. Please. Please._

He takes in every face, every form hanging on in terror and he fights the urge to gag from the rolling it brings to his stomach.

The lights of his jetpack flare behind him and he's thankful it somewhat drowns out the cries, but he needs to hear Peter's...needs something to point him in the right direction.

His voice starts shouting when he's running out of ship.

 

_It’s over. It’s over. It’s over._

 

"Peter!! PETER!!!"

His logical mind already works at making him stop, but his heart is having none of it, working overtime and pounding loud in ears.

More screams…

Explosions…

Whirring, hissing...they are all the sounds of a dying beast.

_No sign of Peter._

_No sign of Peter._

_No sign of Peter._

_...and then it's gone._

With one last groan, Titanic disappears below to her final destination along the ocean floor, taking well over a thousand souls with her and leaving hundreds more to face prolonged torment above the surface.

Tony feels his air supply choked off as he gazes down at what's left.

A sea of dying.

And there is nothing...absolutely nothing he can do about it.

_You told him it was safe._

_You told him to be brave._

_You told him you wanted him...that you weren't going to leave him._

The jet pack sputters behind him and drops him ten feet before he can right himself again, the invention struggling in the frigid air. Tony isn’t sure if it’s been damaged from the fall, or if it’s from the flooding before Peter had rescued it from the room, but he estimates it doesn’t have long before it quits for good.

_And he won't fight it when it does. He'll gladly sink to the depths right along with every other soul..._

_...knowing that he's allowed yet another son to die in the elements._

Tears soak his face beneath the mask, blurring his vision as he flies over the helpless, many of them already unmoving, but he can't stop searching...the drive to rescue, overpowering the grief.

And then a flare shoots up, high, in to the black…its bright green archway lighting up the victims below it.

The millionaire flies for it in a panicked frenzy, wanting it to be Peter...willing it to be so.

Approaching the location of its appearance, he catches the form of a familiar soldier first, feeling a rush of emotion at seeing his closest friend struggling hard with a rope that he works at unraveling...

And that's when he spots the boy in his arms.

Tony brings himself to hover as low as possible, attempting to hear Steve’s voice over the hum of his jetpack and the other cries surrounding them.

“Throw the rope!!” he shouts, hoping the other man still has the strength to do so.

Steve flings it towards him and, somehow, it lands in his gloved hand, nearly slipping away more than once as he winds it around the locking clip on his belt.

_Everything’s fine._

_It’s fine, now, because he sees his kid. He’s looking right at him, and he’ll ignore every other fact about Peter’s state until he can get them to safety._

_Everything’s fine….everything’s fine…._

Soaring with, both, caution and urgency, the millionaire heads for the nearest lifeboat he can find, looking back to make sure the two forms are still attached as he continues pulling them along.

And for Tony, it’s an eternity.

When he reaches a boat of twenty passengers, they all stare up at him with shouts of alarm and gaping mouths, as if he’ a ghost or a figment of their imaginations.

That is, until they see the survivors hanging on the end of the rope, attempting to climb in to the vessel.

Tony falls just low enough to cut the engine on his back before he drops himself there as well, ignoring the high-pitched shrieks and screams when it jostles the passengers around.

 “Grab him,” Steve gasps, lifting the limp teenager up by the shoulder strap of his lifebelt. “Get everything off him!”

Tony dives over to get the boy inside, allowing a determined woman to assist him as the two men aboard pull Steve up, as well.

“We need blankets over here!” the woman calls in her southern drawl, “Come on, girls! Coats, towels, any garments to spare! If you have them, hand them over, quickly!”

Tony takes the damaged invention off his back, tossing it down, along with the helmet before falling to his knees to hover over his boy.

An officer closest to the millionaire shines a flashlight over Peter’s body and Steve feels that he’s going to be sick. “Oh, Tony.”

 

But Tony doesn’t pay any heed.

He has a son in desperate need of warmth…

...a son whose frozen eyes stare lifeless up at the stars, tiny ice crystals forming on his lashes and throughout wet, plastered curls…his thin lips, a china blue.

Steve thinks he looks like a doll…

…porcelain…delicate…and not to be touched. Maybe that’s why he cringes when Tony tears the lifebelt over the kid’s head, stripping him none to gently of his button up shirt and pants next.

“Turn the light off,” the soldier whispers to the officer, with voice cracking. He meets the eyes of the southern woman on the opposite side of Tony before it goes dark again, her plump and stoic mask crumbling at the father-figure's efforts.

“Peter!? Pete, can you hear me?!" Tony asks, gathering up the exposed boy in his arms, feeling a blanket being brought towards him, "Somebody get that light back over here!"

 “Tony,” Steve tries, bringing a hand to hover just above his friend’s shoulder, “He was in the water a long time.”

“You’re alright…Hey, hey, you’re alright, sweet boy,” Tony continues, choking on the burning in his throat as he feels the clammy skin beneath his fingers.

 “Dad’s got you…Dad’s here now. I swear to you, Pete, no more boats. No more water. No more ocean. We're done. We’re done, alright?"

 Steve guesses the older man to be in a state of denial, shock, or both as his army instincts fight, tooth and nail, against the love he carries for his friend on how to proceed.

“Tony."

“We’ve got to get him warm. He’s like ice-"

"Tony."

Tony refuses to look in Steve's direction, body trembling as he stares straight ahead in rigid pause.

"Oh, God," he squeaks out through his teeth.

Steve turns his head, letting it happen. A nauseating relief fills his chest at the small sound of Tony's acceptance, that he's grasping this instead of spiraling in to insanity...but, why?

_Why does it have to be Peter?_

"Oh God, buddy, don't do this. Please...please?" the broken father begs, pressing his cheek to the teen's forehead as loud sounds of grief begin spilling from his lips. "You can't leave me, kid! I can't-I can't do this. I can't do this again, Peter! Peter!!"

Tony feels Steve's hand rest on his son’s bare shoulder and he shoves it back, eyes wide and feral. "Don't."

The soldier's fingers stay where they are, risking injury if only to help his friend through this.

"You said he was cold," Steve murmurs, moving his other hand over Tony's and squeezing it tight, "…right? Can we wrap him up...so he's not so-" his voice breaks, trailing...unable to finish as he watches fresh tears slip down those brown eyes full of anguish; they land softly below on to the still face.

The woman bending down beside them hands Steve a blanket, remaining silent as the soldier unfolds it and lays it on the floor of the boat between their feet.

Steve stretches out his arms to receive the teen's body, but Tony only pulls him closer to his chest, rubbing his hands vigorously down the boy's spine in a feeble attempt to revive one last time.

"Tony-"

"I just got him back!"

"I know. I know this is hard-"

"What kind of father gives up this easy?!"

"Tony, this is not your fault-"

"What kind of father tells their son he's safe when he's not!? Huh!? Tell me!!"

Steve leans closer, until their knees are touching, grabbing the back of his comrade's neck and bringing their heads together too, blanket forgotten.

"A good one," Steve says in to Tony's ear, making the cries rise in volume, "A loving, self-sacrificing...one-of-a-kind father."

The older man rocks the form in his arms, back and forth, unaware of the proof it gives to Steve's response.

_He knows it’s time to say goodbye._

_He's done this before. It was just like this..._

_‘My baby boy…Daddy loves you so much,’ he had said so many years ago._

_But, no..._

_No._

_This is so much worse. He's not coming back from this._

_The fond and tender memories weren't there to haunt him like they are now. Morgan never clung...never cried in his arms or drove him crazy with worry, never rough housed, or rebelled..._

_...never called him, ‘dad’._

Tony despises the day he asked Peter for permission to adopt him…loathes himself for coaxing a boy, who was deathly afraid of the sea, on to a vessel that was damned from the beginning.

What would be his final parting words tonight...to the one who's been fated to die a child…to the one who was cursed to become his son?

"My half-pint," he says, covering his free hand over his eyes with shoulders wracking.

He doesn't protest this time when he feels Steve scooping his arms beneath the teenager. What more can he say?

There's nothing. His entire being...his sense of self is ebbing away right along with everything else.

_I love you._

_Say it._

_At least say this one thing, or you'll regret it forever._

But he doesn't.

He can't.

Because there's movement…

…fingers twitching against his stomach.

It jolts his senses so hard that he’s struck dumb before his tongue can form any words.

"H-h-he’s moving!" Tony cries at last, "I felt him, just now! Buddy!!? Peter!!?"

Steve sets his jaw, still keeping his hands beneath the boy.

He looks back to Peter, wanting to be proven wrong, but is met with those open eyes still frosty and vacant.

"Tony...that's just-I think it’s a part of it-"

"No, Rogers! I felt him! He’s trying to breathe!"

Shuffling Peter's weight over to the soldier, Tony unbuttons his own shirt, looking every bit as crazed as he feels before lifting up the teen under his armpits and bringing their chests together.

Steve is about to ask for assistance from the two officers in getting Tony under control, when he hears the first tiny heave coming out of the boy…nothing vocal…just the faintest of choking sounds.

“Come on, kid,” he whispers, pivoting himself to look at Peter’s face, now, propped up on the millionaire’s shoulder.

_The kid’s actually fighting; hanging on by divine intervention…a miracle…love?_

“I need that light!” Steve calls, taking it from a passenger and shining it on to the teen again.

The same woman who had come to their aid, moments prior, gathers up the survivors’ offerings, introducing herself as _‘Molly Brown’_ before making herself useful and putting down blankets on the vacant side of the boat.

Tony rubs vigorous circles over Peter’s back, attempting to light a spark within the boy’s core as he works at keeping his own breathing under control.

History has always repeated itself, but would he really lose both his sons this way? Chest to chest…heart to heart?

_Was life so incredibly cruel?_

Peter makes another sound and Tony presses on, chin quivering with brow resolute.

_Or maybe this is redemption?_ Oh, how terrifying it is to entertain such a fragile concept.

Morgan had died, but maybe Peter would live.

_And the scars could heal...allow him to trust…make him feel whole again._

“Come back to me, sweet boy…Come on. You’ve got to give me something, here.”

And Peter does…

A water-logged hybrid between a sob and a gasp…but its him…it’s life.

Tony thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

Though, he’d be lying to say it doesn’t, also, scare him out of his ever-loving mind.

“What do I do?” he asks when a second, stronger cry comes up from Peter’s diaphragm, a small amount of sea water trickling down his chin, “What am I supposed to-we ‘ve got to clear his lungs. He’s struggling.”

“He’s cryin', honey,” the southern woman reassures, patting his arm, “If he’s cryin’, he’s breathin’.”

“But, keep him on your chest, like you’re doing,” Steve adds when Tony tries pulling Peter back to examine him, “I think your body heat’s keeping his heart pumping.”

The soldier throws a donated garment over Peter’s head and wipes it over his face and hair, recruiting Molly to put her hands over the boy’s eyes to help them thaw and blink again.

More articles of clothing are laid over the father and son and Tony cups the back of the boy’s head, calloused fingers thawing the remaining chunks of ice still clinging to curls.

A tiny laugh bubbles up from Tony’s throat. He hates how out of place it feels, though it comes from the overwhelming sense of relief…

…the fact that this kid is a miracle.

 “Hurry and lie him down here with you,” Steve orders, gesturing to the makeshift bed of fur coats, “We need to get him shivering again, or there’s still a chance we could lose him.”

It occurs to Tony, just then, that his comrade holds no sign of fatigue or ailments from the near-death experience…no teeth chattering or tremors…just a borrowed blanket draped across his broad shoulders.

 “You want to explain to me why you’re not freezing to death…how you recovered so quick?” the millionaire whispers, receiving a raised eyebrow from his companion. “I mean, it is a bit suspicious.”

“Save it,” Steve says with a smile. “You’ve got a job to do.”

Tony doesn’t argue, securing his hold on the boy in order to move him safely.

 “You risked your life to save his,” he says, turning to look at his friend, “…it’s only fair that I owe you mine, now. Thank you.”

The soldier nods as the pair regard each other a moment just before Tony gives his undivided attention back to his charge.

 “Okay, kid,” he breathes, easing the teenager down.

Peter’s still completely lifeless…an ivory corpse with a pulse. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional whine, Tony would still presume him dead.

Lying himself down as well, he takes a few deep breaths to prepare himself with embracing an icicle again for an unforeseeable amount of time.

In all honesty, the chill of the Atlantic air has his own ligaments going numb, but knowing his kid’s survival relies on his warmth makes him a more than willing sacrifice.

“Here we go.”

He sucks in a sharp breath as Peter’s frozen chest comes back in contact with his.

Biting the bullet, he pins the boy’s head beneath his chin, manipulating limp arms to wrap around his waist and pulling a stranger’s heavy quilt up and over Peter’s head, leaving no part of his body exposed to the air.

_…Bless the ones who’ve ensured the warmth of his child…bless them, every single one…._

He feels and hears another string of labored groans against his neck, alerting him to his son’s increasing agony.

“I know. I know, it, bud. Dad’s gonna make the pain go away,” he murmurs, planting kisses on quilt-covered cheeks. You’re gonna make it, Pete. You’re so strong...”

 

Morgan never cried…

…but Peter did.

 

 

............

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Yes, Guys, I couldn’t kill my baby son….at least not yet 😉 . If this disappoints anyone, and(or) you deem me a coward, then by all means, let me know in the review below.  
> I do want to make an announcement about severe hypothermia: In my latest research I found out that in VERY severe cases, a person probably shouldn’t be moved around or rubbed because it could hurt their heart or put them in cardiac arrest. I chose to keep this bit in because a.) this was something they did do in the old days before there was more knowledge of hypothermia. b.) Tony’s no doctor, and there aren’t any on board. HE’S DOING HIS BEST and c.) I had these parallels to Morgan and Peter well before I found this info out and I WANT IT…so yeah. That’s the scoop. Don’t rub cold people back to life.  
> I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and that it didn’t disappoint in any way. You guys have all journeyed with me and I’m so overwhelmed by all the love I’ve received so I’m a nervous nelly! I’d love to hear your thoughts. <3  
> More to come!


	12. Whatever it Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He fell from the stern when the ship split," Steve says, knowing Tony wasn't privy to that information up until this moment. His friend turns away from the table, grabbing fists of his hair and breathing shallow through his nose. The soldier pauses for precious seconds before finishing his account, "He was in the water for...maybe a little under ten minutes...but he'd been trapped in the flooding down in the lower part of the ship for some time before that."  
> 'Because I couldn't find you.' Tony thinks, It’s my fault you're like this. I’m so sorry, Pete. Please forgive me...Please...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…..I’M NOT DEAD!! Guys, I am so so so so so sorry for this terrible delay!!!! As a gift of apology, I want to let you guys know that there is still one chapter left to go! I truly hope this one doesn’t disappoint.  
> PLEASE FORGIVE ANY ERRORS!!! I only edited through a few times, and I know there’s more!  
> I love you all!!

_Eternal Father, strong to save,_  
Whose arm does bind the restless wave,  
Who bids the mighty ocean deep  
Its own appointed limits keep;  
O hear us when we cry to Thee  
For those in peril on the sea.

_\- William Whiting_

_It is said that this was the last hymn sung during the church service on 14 thof April 1912 aboard the RMS Titanic, just hours before it sank._

………………..

 

_April 15 th 1912_

_The Middle of the North Atlantic_

_4:00 am_

Tony realizes he's dozed when his ears pick up something, far off, in the distance.

He pulls the heavy quilt back just enough to listen for it again, meeting Steve's worn face staring down at him from where he sits above Peter's covered form.

"Whales," the soldier says, turning to gaze back out towards the blue and purple lights on the horizon.

A few survivors whisper their fears, hushed by those that know such beasts are gentle giants.

Tony groans as he lifts himself just enough to look over the edge of the lifeboat, feeling the rush of frigid air bite at his exposed skin. "Oh, that's brisk," he says, squinting to catch a glimpse of the creatures.

They swim towards the dawn, misty blows shooting up like high pillars towards the sky, dark tails arching just above the surface before tucking down again with rhythmic repetition.

It's a scene Tony would have loved to share with Peter, were he conscious.

But that blanketed form is still rising and falling when he glances back down, and that is truly all he needs right now.

"You feeling it yet?" Steve asks, grimacing as he gestures to his friend's body.

Tony's brow furrows, following the concerned gaze. His chest, abdomen, arms and back are covered in bruises, the nastiest one throbbing on his right side where his ribs have been protesting for some time, now. "I’ve, uh...seen worse days," he replies, wincing and shivering despite his best efforts.

"No doubt," Steve says with a smirk. He's just about to insist on taking a look when his friend lifts the blanket up to check on Peter, his own injuries long forgotten the moment he notices the boy is awake.

"There he is," Tony says, "There's my son."

Peter gives no reply. Empty, bloodshot eyes search from side to side for the voice. A few more sluggish blinks and they give up the hunt, fixing straight ahead on something far and out of reach. Fragile lungs make one attempt at a deep, crackling breath before the teen returns back to his vacant state.

Tony's eyes flicker briefly up to Steve's for reassurance before he digs around beneath the layers of coats and blankets to find the boy's fingers.

"Try and squeeze my hand, bud. Can you squeeze for me?"

When he doesn't feel anything, the father-figure swallows, wracking his brain for solutions to problems he knows nothing about.

"He could be catatonic," Steve says, moving to where he can get a better look, "There's a few, here, that are in that state."

Tony manages to pull himself up to a sitting position, wrapping one of the loose fur coats around himself and making some room for his friend.

Steve pulls back the borrowed quilt some more, exposing Peter's face, but keeping precious warmth trapped from the neck down. "Peter? You with us? Come on, kid." he calls, turning the teenager on to his back and putting his ear to his chest.

Tony bites his tongue as the soldier draws conclusions of his own. But the silence, alone, is panic inducing and the other survivors' whispered concerns do nothing but aid the problem.

"Tony," Steve says at last.

"What? Tell me."

"Look, I'm no doctor, but I think he's gonna need some more help."

Tony's expression flattens. "Really? Gosh, well, you know, I'm just glad you said something, ‘cause I didn't realize-"

"Would you let me finish? One person isn't enough to keep him stable," Steve shouts over him, "Tony, we don't know when rescue's coming...You following me, yet?"

_Tony can't believe what he's hearing._

_No. He can’t believe what he’s seeing!_

Steve takes off his officer's jacket, handing it to a young woman next to him before unbuttoning his shirt next. 

"What on _earth_ are you doing?"

"Helping you out."

"We're really doing this?"

"You got a better plan?"

"Uh, Mrs. Brown," Tony says, turning to the southern woman sitting on the opposite side of them, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing the warmth of her bosom-"

"Beg yer pardon?" Molly asks flatly, penciled brow nearly reaching her crown of dampened curls. She wraps her mink coat tighter around herself, chuckling at the rather improper statement. "Maybe when hell freezes over, Stark…'fraid it's up to you, sonny."

Steve can only nod when she gestures to him.

"Worth a shot," Tony sighs, looking back and forth between his crazy friend and the kid still fighting for his life, "Yeah, yeah. Alright, Sandow. Get in here, keep your pants on and don't get fresh. And just to be clear, we're doing this back to back."

Steve rolls his eyes and tosses his shirt, knowing, full well, this was always Tony's way of handling any uncomfortable situation.

There is one thing Tony can, and most certainly will, take to his grave without the soldier ever knowing.

The warmth that follows is nothing short of heavenly.

With arms folded and facing away, he lets himself rest knowing Peter's recovery depends on it. Wedged between their backs, he now lies blissfully unaware of the drastic measures they’re taking on his behalf.

_What wouldn't I do for you?_

He remembers asking the same question back at the manor.

The answer hasn't changed.

 

......................

 

Rescue arrives with the sun in the form of a passenger steamship called the Carpathia.

A single stack in the center of her deck leaves little black clouds puffing a trail behind her as she flies through the icy water to reach them.

Tony stretches an arm out from under the blankets for his helmet, throwing it over the side first, and letting it sink to the dark water below, before grabbing the rest of his damaged invention.

Steve seizes his wrist just as he lets the rocket device drop down with a splash, as well.

"What are you doing?" the soldier whispers.

"Everybody's got secrets, Cap. You gonna tell 'em yours?"

Steve sighs, knowing Tony's intellect is just as sharp as his wit.

The millionaire carries on, "Not a scratch on that chiseled physique, you're like a human furnace...what else can you do?"

"Not now," Steve replies, "They've already seen you fly that thing, anyway. You’ve got a boat full of witnesses," he adds, swinging the topic back around.

"And it isn’t our business," Molly's voice interrupts. "Nobody likes a gossip. What ya'll saw a while ago, was between Mr. Stark and his people. Aint that right, ladies? Gents?"

Tony and Steve lift their heads up to see the other women nodding in silent agreement, even the officers seem to feign ignorance.

Not another word is spoken until they get to safety.

When Carpathia is close enough to extend her hand, Steve, Molly and the two other officers in charge, cease their rowing, tucking the oars beneath the wooden seats in preparation to come aboard.

Relief may have entered in to the hearts of those on the little lifeboat, but cheers were nowhere to be found amongst them, replaced by inconsolable weeping for those who they must, now, leave behind.

Tony, having been ordered to stay beneath the blankets, throws his shirt back on, dark eyes watching the ropes begin their descent. His numb fingers give up fastening the last two buttons of the garment due to a mixture of urgency and exhaustion. Even so, he still finds the strength to wrap Peter up for delivery.

"Hey, Uncle Steve?" Tony calls over his shoulder, bringing his friend back to his side. "I-uh...I don't think I can-"

Steve rests a hand on the millionaire, well aware of Tony's limits after seeing the many injuries and the stress his body's taken on, "Wasn't about to let you try it, anyway," he replies. "You alright?"

 

Tony manages a quick nod before the soldier lifts Peter up, tossing him over his shoulder and grabbing for the bottom rung of the ladder on the side of the steamship.

The millionaire’s stomach lurches when the limp bundle dangles against Steve's back like a hunter's catch, brown curls falling free and those unresponsive eyes still parted open. "Cap, watch his head."

"I got him," Steve grunts as Carpathia's crewman pull him and his charge inside the vessel.

Tony lets out a pent-up sigh, standing and swaying a bit as a pair of small hands wrap around his bicep. Molly's sharp eyes stare up in to his, soft and all knowing. Clicking her tongue, she pulls him over to stand next in line, "Listen, I know, it's always been 'ladies first' since the dawn of time, but I'm just a tad shy after all that bosom talk from a while ago," she says with a wink, "Care to make the climb before a woman, just this once?"

Tony sets his jaw.

He knows what she's doing. And if it wasn't for Peter, he'd still have it in himself to turn down the request and insist she go first, but pride and etiquette feel like distant strangers in the vast fog, steadily building up in his mind; he has only the will to comply.

Molly gives him one more nod as the crewmen's strong arms hoist him up to safety, leading his battered legs up to each step.

Somehow, he makes it.

Heat floods, deep, beneath his skin, hitting him right down to his bones and shocking his system. Blankets fall over his back as a cup of freshly-brewed coffee appears before him in the hands of a stranger. Others reach out to touch his face. He can feel someone patting his arms as he weaves through both survivors and concerned travelers.

_"You're safe now, sir."_

_"Come, come, now. Sit down over here."_

_"Are you injured? Do you need assistance?"_

Tony hears their many questions, but can't seem to answer, scanning the mourning crowd for something....

The cries of women and children fill up the hall, even drowning out the loud whirring of the ship, itself. Orphaned babies, wrapped in wool, beg for their mommies and daddies. Immigrants from all over the world press themselves in to corners, many of their faces blank and pale with shock.

It's becoming apparent to Tony, that their lifeboat was one of the last to be picked up, with the entire ship's passengers packed in together like sardines. His ears catch something about 'seven hundred Carpathia passengers with seven hundred Titanic survivors,' but he isn't certain of anything.

One glimpse of Peter's body rounding the corner to another part of the ship is enough to kick him back in to father-mode as he pushes himself to catch up to wherever it is, they're taking the boy, handing his steaming drink off to another survivor in passing.

They end up in a banquet hall. The Captain has arranged that all first aid victims be moved to one of the three dining rooms on the ship. Regardless of class, all patients would receive the best care possible from the few doctors they had on board.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Tony asks through short gasps, "Doc, I need to hear it. I need to hear-"

_Breathe, Tony...Don't stop breathing..._

_He has to get a grip for his kid._

The surgeon assigned to the location sweeps off a large table of silverware and white china for Steve to set Peter down on, ignoring the crash of the metal and porcelain and throwing the table cloth well away from the area. "Injuries? How long in the water?" he asks, stripping the boy of his blanket and checking his vitals.

Peter's color has yet to return, skin only a shade darker than the many linens still decorating the other tables around them.

"He fell from the stern when the ship split," Steve says, knowing Tony wasn't privy to that information up until this moment. His friend turns away from the table, grabbing fists of his hair and breathing shallow through his nose. The soldier pauses for precious seconds before finishing his account, "He was in the water for...maybe a little under ten minutes...but he'd been trapped in the flooding down in the lower part of the ship for some time before that."

_'Because I couldn't find you.' Tony thinks, It’s my fault you're like this. I’m so sorry, Pete. Please forgive me...Please...'_

"There's bruising forming around the eyes, most likely from going down head first...pupils are extremely dilated as well. What else can you tell me?" the surgeon continues, grabbing a stack of warm towels that's just arrived from another crew member and lying them next to Peter.

"He stopped breathing at one point...most likely while we were still in the water," Steve continues, leaving out the details of how exactly they were pulled from the sea. "Mr. Stark, here, was able to revive him."

The surgeon places one of the rolled towels beneath Peter's neck, glancing up from his work to study Tony. "You're the boy's father, I gather?" he asks, waiting for the other man's response.

"Yes, he is," Steve interjects, not missing how the question inflicts further pain on to his friend.

The millionaire stands frozen in place, watching Steve pivot in front of him to assist the doctor in covering Peter back up and placing hot water bottles beneath the areas of his body that need it the most.

He listens to their discussion, tries to gather what is happening as they wrap clean, white bandages over Peter's eyes.

_"...continue...warm...get...for a short time..."_

_"...catatonic...trauma...further treatment in New York..."_

_Focus....Focus...Focus..._

"We'll take it from here, Mr. Stark. Your boy is safe for now, I assure you."

The last sentence is crystal clear.

_Safe..._

_Peter's safe..._

Tony's body submits to the words before he's ever aware, relieved of duty, regardless of how he feels about it as he crashes hard, back against a cart of stacked dishes and down onto the floor.

"Tony! Tony! I need some help over here!!"

"Tony!"

"Tony!"

_'I'm sorry,’_ Tony thinks. _'I tried...'_

_But then, he's always been a failure._

...........

 

He's roused by a rolling sensation in his gut.

No white lights or crossing over to the eternal unknown...

Just an overwhelming nausea that demands his attention... _his consciousness_.

There's the familiar noise of steam engines and occasional voices in the background, albeit they're much quieter than the screams and sobs he's been accustomed to for hours and hours on end.

_Titanic._

_The Sinking._

_Rescue._

_PETER._

 

"Where is he!?" Tony shouts.

Hands grab for him, pushing him back down to a makeshift pallet as his eyes catch a swinging chandelier and his best friend hovering just above him.

"He's alright. Hey. Relax. Relax." Steve says, keeping Tony in place, "He's just on the other side of the room...in and out of sleep, but stable."

The millionaire slumps backward and closes his eyes, turning his face away and swallowing for a moment, "Good...I guess, that's good, right?" he says, at last, "Cap…Cap, I think I've aged about...twenty years, wouldn't you say? In the span of couple days? Nice knowing, I can hold on to the last twenty still left in reserve."

"Technically, you've been sleeping for two days-"

"Two days!?"

Tony recalls the Carpathia…the reality of the journey, the rolling and nausea making more sense, now, in his dazed state.

_Yet another consequence of sea travel._

 A long groan escapes his lips, "Where are we? Where are they taking us?"

Steve smiles, brow rising in concern. He knows sea sickness when he sees it, "New York. Arthur Rostron is the Captain of this vessel. He says we've still got another day’s journey left."

Another groan.

"I was really hoping you'd sleep through this storm," the soldier continues, "You wanna try and get some air on deck? The doctor says you can move around if you're up for it. How you managed to not break anything is nothing short of miraculous."

Tony knows there's room for banter in there somewhere. His overbearing friend is ripe for a good quip, but his sore and weary body snubs any effort he might want to put in to it, settling for putting his hand out for Steve, instead.

The soldier sniffs in amusement and, with careful movements, gets the older man on to his feet, supporting his weight until he knows Tony can handle walking on his own.

"Definitely need air," Tony moans, the pain in his limbs and side only helping his growing need to heave somewhere.

_Please, God, anywhere but on this burgundy carpet, with Captain Overbearing holding my hair back._

He makes it over the railing of the starboard side of the ship, nothing but bile coming up from his empty stomach as Steve stands a little ways off, affording the millionaire a bit of privacy.

Tony feels alive again once he's finished, letting the spray of the sea mist his face for a time before allowing the soldier to lead him back inside.

More clarity brings more guilt.

He hasn't asked, once, about Peter's condition, since waking up, and yet he's terrified of hearing a diagnosis now that he's thinking about it.

"He’s got a long road ahead of him," Steve says, out of the blue, as if reading his fears.

The soldier stops their walk at a long line of windows.

Tony wonders if it’s on purpose. His reddening eyes can look out at the big swells instead of exposing themselves to any onlookers. He's grateful, regardless, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets to hide the tremors, as well.

"It's what I suspected. He's catatonic," Steve continues.

_Kid. When does it end?_

"But the doctor did have some success getting liquids down him. He just needs time.”

_A pause..._

 “They bandaged his eyes-"

"What's wrong with his eyes?"

_God, please, not his sight._

"They'll heal," Steve says, resting his hand on the window sill instead of Tony's shoulder, "He smacked the water hard, Tony…and when they froze open, it made it worse-hey-he's gonna be alright, okay?"  
Tony feels like breaking the glass in front of him, but settles in pressing his forehead against it, "Give me the rest. Just lay it out, Rogers," he pleads, breath fogging over his faded reflection.

He's got to take this all in one dose...swallow it down before he rejects the reality of it.

"His lungs may never fully recover. It doesn't mean he can't live a full life, just that he might get winded easily…catch colds more often."

"He'll defy those odds," Tony says, finding faith where there seems to be none.

Steve studies the other man, turning to lean back against the sill and crossing his burly arms, "A chip off the old block, then."

Tony stares down at his shoes.

…………………..

 

When they reach the dining room, a lone passenger stands propped against the door frame, gloved hand holding a handkerchief against her lips as a few tears slide down narrow cheek bones.

She turns her head as they approach, green eyes locking with Tony's.

_He knows this woman…_

Miss ‘Peacock’ (as Peter had, once, dubbed her) from Titanic's banquet hall. She still wears the same gold earrings, face aged considerably from the traumatic event.

“We meet again, Mr. Stark,” she says, chin quivering as her gaze moves back to where Peter lies, “Your boy…will he make it?”

Tony follows her line of sight for a moment, moving back to study her sincerity. There is a small part of him that wants to make her feel guilty…to ask her why she cares for an ‘orphan’ she’s never had the pleasure of knowing…but her humbled and beaten down expression softens him. He wonders if any of her loved ones now lie beneath the sea.

“If I get my way.”

She offers him a small smile in return.

"Yes...indeed, you must."

..........

 

Two things are obvious as soon as Tony attends to Peter:

The towels are already warm and fresh, lying draped across his charge.

Somebody's already refilled the water bottles...and it wasn't Steve.

"Who's looking after my boy? Hmm?" he asks, running his fingers against Peter’s scalp. He isn't sure what bothers him more...seeing empty eyes, or the inability to see them with the bandages covering them up.

"I took the liberty of looking after the boy while you recovered, sir."

Tony whirls around at the voice, mouth dropping open when he sees his beloved valet standing there, looking...well…as if he's had no part in anything tragic or gut wrenching at all. The stiff upper lip and the slicked back hair remain untouched and for a moment, the millionaire questions if he's standing face to face with a ghost.

"Jarvis!"  
"Welcome back the land of the living, sir."

"How!? How did you?! I thought I'd lost you!"

"Indeed, sir. I, too, had resigned myself to the fate of the ship...that is, until I was instructed to find my place on the boats. You must know by now, sir, I've never once disobeyed my employer in all my years of service."

_'That's a story I need to hear.'_ Tony thinks.

The millionaire grabs the valet in to a hug, giving him a few good slaps on the back, "Ever reliable! I'm giving you the raise of your life when we get home! Heck, just retire and move in-"

"I shall require only the usual, if you please, sir," Jarvis replies.

Tony gives him another hug.

............

 

_April 18 th, 1912_

_Pier 54 at West 13th Street on the Hudson River, New York_

_9:25 pm_

Mrs. May Parker holds herself up against a glowing lamppost with legs trembling on the wooden planks of the dock. She watches on, as Carpathia unloads its passengers in to a sea of frantic family and friends waiting out in the pouring rain.

There’s been no news...nothing to ground her...only the knowledge that well under half of Titanic's passengers made it out alive.

Every worst-case scenario has already played itself out in her mind...consuming her every thought until she feels as though she’s bordering on hysterical.

"Baby, please be on that ship," she sobs, dropping her umbrella and fighting her way to the front of the crowd. "You’ve got to be on that ship, baby, please...please…for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay. Guys, I hope this chapter ties you over until the ACTUAL ending. I didn’t want my readers waiting, even a day longer! Please review and tell me what you think.  
> A couple of things, I wanted to clarify…  
> Historically, the timing for Carpathia’s arrival on the scene was actually right at 3:30 am, but many of the lifeboats drifted and were scattered. The crew searched for hours until the last survivor was picked up at approximately 9:00am before the Captain announced the search was over, so hopefully that gives you a better understanding of why they did not see their rescue until sunrise.  
> I chose to have the doctor diagnose Peter as ‘catatonic’, but its important to note that it’s now, considered by some, to be an outdated term. It means something very different in the present, according to most sites I have found. Today, catatonia is usually associated with schizophrenia, autism, and other mental illnesses. It covers a very, very wide spectrum, and I am in no way intending to belittle it, or hint that Peter is suffering from the same condition. To sum up this rather long explanation, I am going with the dictionary term, catatonic: in a state of paralysis or shock; unable to speak or respond.  
> Finally, YES! There is one more chapter, and I am working on it as fast as I can. You guys will never know how grateful I am that you’ve stuck it out with me this long!! I truly hope you’re still enjoying this fic and that I haven’t lost any readers in my absence. <3


	13. Forever This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need to see it," May interrupts.  
> "What?"  
> "I need to see that he loves you too."  
> Tony holds his breath.  
> "Then...and only then...will you have my blessing, Mr. Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the journey is the end...(End Game reference. Sorry I had to. Lol)  
> Guys, I, honestly, cannot believe the sheer amount of love and encouragement I've gotten from this story. It brings tears to my eyes that we've actually reached the end. I have never completed a work of fiction in my life...This fic means so much to me because it says I CAN do it. I owe it all to the people who have stuck by me and helped me through, every step of the way. You know who you are, my dears!  
> I find it quite fitting to end this story on the week of the 107th anniversary of Titanic's sinking. I did not plan it this way, and the fact that it happened is poetic, in a sense.  
> Now, most of you readers are from the irondad fandom…but for those unaccustomed to heavy volumes of fluff, I feel this chapter should have some tag warnings on it, so proceed with caution: Copious amounts of cotton candy to follow, I'm talking FLUFF! Moments of fluff! Mentions of cuddles and loves between father and son that are so sickly sweet, it may turn the average reader's stomach! FLUFF, PEOPLE!! Understand?  
> I edited this thing many times, but I continue seeing issues, so please forgive them! lol  
> Alright. Let's proceed to the final chapter!

 

_April 18th, 1912_

_Pier 54 at West 13th Street on the Hudson River, New York_

_9:35 pm_

 

Over fifty tugboats full of journalists meet the Carpathia in lower New York harbor.

Reporters holding large megaphones yell up at the ship for information, offering $50 to $100 for eyewitness accounts.

"How many dead?!" they shout.

"Are there any injured aboard?"

"Send out the widows!"

The questions carry on in a steady stream of insensitive babble, washing over the seven hundred remaining survivors left from the tragedy, without a hint of remorse.

Cameras light up the side of the ship with flashes of magnesium powder as passengers begin to emerge from the rescue ship.

Tony staggers back at the rush of families seeking out their surviving kin, swept away from his party as dozens of eyes lock on to his in the passing. Steve grips his arm and pulls him back to his side before he gets too far, bringing him around to stand next to Peter's stretcher and using his own body as a barricade for his friend. 

The wails and shrieks amongst the masses are deafening, rain drenching through their heavy coats, knitted shawls and blankets, rendering them useless.

Its haunting...dark...

_Hopeless._

A taller man grabs Tony by the collar, shoving a picture in his face and yelling at the top of his lungs, "Owen George!" he screams, scanning the crowd, "Owen George!!"

Tony stares at the picture of the teenage boy...Peter's age, or close to it, wearing a smile as equally bright...

_A child...somebody’s baby..._

"No-no, I'm sorry, I don't know-" Tony says.

The man pivots around and catches Peter lying on the stretcher, flying to grab at him before the millionaire can stop him.

"Owen!?...Owen!!" he sobs, shaking Peter's limp form as Tony and Steve drag him off.

The grieving stranger falls to the ground, tearing at his clothes and disappearing out of sight as the crowd continues to push them further on to the docks.

Another man with an umbrella, shuffles around with a clipboard, doing his best to jot down names to start a census wall, attempting some sort of order amongst the madness.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers," he says after writing down the information Steve has just given, "And can I also take his name, please, sir?" he asks, gesturing to Peter.

Tony falters, exchanging glances between Steve and Jarvis, and in an impulsive decision, says, “Stark...Peter Stark."

"Thank you, sir," says the man, moving on to the cluster of people next to them.

_"Peter!!"_

The cry fills Tony's ears. There could be over a dozen or more ‘ _Peter’s_ stepping off from this vessel, but the hairs on his neck rise at the sound. Somehow, he knows it’s her.

_The aunt._

"Peter? Peter!" she cries, rushing to his charge, "Baby? Speak to me! It's Aunt May."

Tony stands frozen, even as Steve tells her he's going to make it…that Tony has him in good hands.

May stands up straight, shaking her head from side to side and pressing her lips together, going around the stretcher and hugging on tight to the millionaire.

"Thank you," she says, "Thank you so much for bringing him home to me. Thank you. Thank you."

Tony hugs her back, eventually dropping his stiff arms back down.

_How is he going to explain?_

_This wasn't how they'd planned it. Peter isn't awake...or, at least, not aware._

"Mr. Stark!"

The doctor from the Carpathia shoves his way in to get to Tony, revealing a stack of papers with scrawled notes and tucking them back in his coat before the rain can ruin them. "I will have your son's records transferred to the nearest hospital."

May's eyes shift back to Tony, soft expression turning sour.

_And the cat's out of the bag._

 "You should have a doctor to your residence no later than tomorrow morning. Here is the ointment for his eyes. It will need to be applied morning and night. If he doesn't come to in the next few days, he could spiral in to further problems, but let's be optimistic, shall we? I wish you the best, Mr. Stark."

"Yes. We…uh…have a lot of catching up to do," Tony says, shaking hands with the doctor while locking eyes with May.

"Yes, indeed, that's quite apparent," the aunt replies.

"Not here. My house is only a thirty-minute drive,” Tony continues, “Come with me and I swear, the kid's gonna have the best treatment he can possibly get. Give me a chance to explain everything."

_This wasn't the plan._

_But, then, he should be used to that by now._

...................

_11:30pm_

May has tears streaming down her face by the time Tony is finished with their story.

The millionaire joins her in his heart, though a numbness has settled there, stifling emotions for the time being.

They both pause in a comfortable silence at the round table in the dining room, Tony fiddling with the stiff collar of the shirt he's changed in to, and May sipping at her lukewarm tea.

"May I ask you something, Mr. Stark?" she says at last.

Tony's eyes tell her to proceed.

"There are loads of children begging to be loved and wanted on every corner. I want to know what stopped you from walking right past Peter Parker, crying in the rain, that day. Why him?"

Tony stares down at his hands, rubbing them together as he works to speak.

It isn't just because the question burns at his conscience...How can he begin to explain what this kid means to him? How can he convey the paternal spiral he's been in since their very first encounter?

"Because...he's...Peter."

_'That's your line?' Tony thinks. 'You'll surely win her over with that one.'_

May tilts her head and Tony scoots to the edge of his seat.

"Mrs. Parker," he says with voice shaking, "Look, I'm not here...pretending to know _anything_ about fatherhood...I'm, really, more of a... learn-as-I-go kind of a guy...but, I will grant you anything...anything at all. You name it. It's yours; just, please...don't take him."

"I need to see it," May interrupts.

"What?"

"I need to see that he loves you too."

Tony holds his breath.

"Then...and only then...will you have my blessing, Mr. Stark."

.......................................................

In a mixture of devotion to the kid and subtle bribery towards the aunt, Tony decides that Peter is in desperate need of a bath, the following morning…

…and he's going to be the one to give it.

Jarvis could just as easily accomplish such a thing, himself. He, also, has plenty of workers to assist the valet...but this isn't their job.

_This isn't their kid._

And even if he's never had to do anything like this, he's not about to pass it off to somebody else just because it's a little uncomfortable.

"Sir...do forgive me, but just how much Rose water did you add to the bath?" Jarvis asks, lying a towel next to the clawfoot tub in the center of the room and exiting again.

Tony moves fast to the double doors next to the sink, throwing them open to air out the overpowering aroma. "Yeah, yeah. So, I got a little carried away," he replies, waving his arms to help fan it out. The morning sun pours in on the powder blue wallpaper, a crisp breeze following in its wake as a few gulls rest their webbed feet atop the balcony.

"Not today, fellas...," Tony says, shooing them off their perch and watching them coast along to another landing.

Jarvis returns with Peter a moment later, settling their unclad and unaware charge in to the bath.

Tony turns back to his task, rolling up his sleeves to his biceps and pretending this wasn't the slightest bit awkward.

Jarvis holds Peter up in a sitting position as Tony brings a short stool to the side of the tub.

The millionaire makes slow and careful work of removing Peter's bandages from his eyes, wincing and scrunching his face when it seems like it might bring pain to the boy.

He gestures for the valet to let go of the teenager, feeling an even heavier weight of responsibility settle a top his shoulders when Jarvis leaves him to it.

Tony hesitates, scooping up water and letting it pour over the kid’s thin shoulders.

"So, this is different, huh, bud. A bath in the morning? What's that about?"

Tony props Peter's chest against his outstretched arm, his hand hooking beneath the boy's armpit to keep him from falling forward. Bringing a soapy sponge to his back, he scrubs away the stubborn sea salt and grime still clinging from the night of the sinking.

He pauses when a little moan follows.

"You with me, half-pint?" he asks, "That feel good?"

Tony smiles fondly, checking Peter's bruised eyes, coated thick with ointment, for flickers of awareness, but they only blink as they usually do, so he carries on in his ministrations.

He washes the boy's matted curls next, slightly shaken when the water pours over the kid's face.

"You're alright-you're alright."

Peter stays motionless and Tony wonders who he's really talking to.

_He's still breathing..._

_Look at him, Tony...._

_You can feel his heart beating against your arm..._

_His skin is pink..._

_The water's hot..._

_He's not there anymore..._

_You're not either..._

A few deep breaths and he's back to normal, relieved to see he hasn't completely lost it.

"Okay...Alright, Let's see what Auntie May thinks when she sees your old dad has you clean and smelling nice."

He carries on talking for a while, finishing his task by rinsing off all the suds and letting the tub drain out.

Jarvis stands by with towel in hand, bringing it to his employer when he sees its needed.

"We gotta get him back to his old self, Jarvis?" he says, smoothing back drenched curls.

"Indeed, sir."

"Pete, you still have to do your part of the convincing, you know. Right now, she only sees a millionaire that's lost his bloomin' mind...and she would be right."

The teenager blinks some more in response.

Jarvis moves to help stand him up while Tony wraps him in the towel and both of them carry him back to the bed.

The father-figure makes quick work of slicking Peter's hair back with a comb, buttoning him in to an oversized nightshirt and covering skinny legs up with a down comforter.

The doorbell rings just as he finishes applying fresh bandages over Peter's eyes.

"Perfect timing," he says, pulling a blanket over the boy and tucking him in.

Tony sniffs a few times and waves it off when May compliments his efforts, her travel bag of items made useless by the door, "You've left me to twiddle my thumbs," the aunt says in amusement, "Is there nothing I can do?"

"Well, I left you with the best part," Tony says, "Love him. Please."

May holds back a smile as the millionaire walks back to Peter, bending down to whisper in to the boy's ear.

"Hey, bud. Listen, I'm not leaving you, okay? Just have to deal with some greedy reporters for a bit and I'll be back, alright?" he murmurs, "I promise."

If only he could see Peter's eyes fluttering beneath their coverings...feel his heart beginning to beat faster beneath his rib cage...hear the quickening breaths of consciousness returning to an empty shell.

If only he knew it was almost time...

_If only..._

...................................

 

_"Daaaad!!"_

_"Daaaaad!!"_

May flies to the stairs, heart pounding in her chest at hearing the guttural cries, echoing off the walls an hour later.

She reaches the bedroom, feeling a lump forming in her throat. Peter's bandages lie scattered across the wood floor, her nephew nowhere to be seen, though she can hear him.

Following the sound of painful wheezing, May finds the boy lying on his stomach on the other side of the bed.

"Peter!"

Peter flinches but doesn’t acknowledge her, body shaking as he continues to try and right himself.

"Baby," May drops her volume almost to a whisper, getting on her knees and inching her way closer. "Oh, It's okay. It's okay."

"Make it stop! P-please! Please-make it stop!!" he screams, covering his hands over his ears.

"Peter, breathe. Talk to me. Its Aunt May. I'm right here."

"Help me!! Please, God! I can't stop it!! It's there-and I watched it-and he's falling-and-and-he's dead and I lived! He's dead and I lived!!"

Peter's fists fly to his head, pounding at his skull with no mercy as a scream tears from his throat.

May screams too, rushing to grab her nephew from further self-harm, and constricting him in to a hug. "Peter, listen to me! Listen to me!"

Peter doesn't let up, screaming sobs heaving out of his core as he fights weakly against her hold...coughing as if his very lungs might erupt from his mouth.

"Tony's here. Honey, you have got to breathe. Tony's still with us. He's alive."

"No!" Peter shouts, snot dripping down his nose and soaking in to May's tattered sleeve. "He lied!! He lied to me!! He said he'd never let me go!!"

May thinks of Tony's story then...how she'd been so skeptical...how she'd questioned if he was embellishing...wondered where Peter really was in all this...

It's as plain as day.

"Peter...baby-baby-listen," she says, her next words stalling on her tongue, "Peter, Dad's only gone for a little while... Just a little while longer, okay...shh..."

 

_"Daddy, get in the boat!"_

_"It's goodbye for a little while...only for a little while."_

May will never understand why her words make Peter cry all the louder.

 

.................................

 

Tony enters the darkened mansion at around midnight, setting his hat on the stand just as May appears, racing down the stairs, her long nightgown flying behind her.

  
"Oh, thank God!" she says, bringing a thousand fears in to Tony's mind when he sees her expression.

"What is it? May?" he asks, rushing to meet her in the middle of the entryway.

"He's awake," May whispers, out of breath, "Since about an hour after you left this morning. Tony, he hasn't stopped crying. We tried to send you a telegram. Jarvis found a song that he likes on the phonograph. It’s keeping him calm, but-"

Tony curses under his breath, bolting back up the stairs with May following on his heels.

When he reaches the upper hall, he collects himself, willing his nerves to relax, if only to keep from feeding into Peter's hysteria.

As he walks down the dimly-lit corridor, he's suddenly hesitant.

His ears catch the soft crackling of the phonograph...the cheerful music contradicting everything he's feeling inside.

_"Oh say, let us fly dear, Where kid? To the sky, dear! Oh, you flying machine...."_

The kid's song...

His lullaby...

_“Come Josephine, on my flying machine going up she goes, up she goes.”_

 

He catches Jarvis first. His loyal valet sits next to the music machine just beneath the room's large window, fingers ready to lift the needle off the record to start the song over again.

When he sees Tony, the relief shows on his face. His long legs stand straight to attention, nodding once to his employer and leaving without a word.

Loud sniffles reach his ears next and Tony turns to his right.

The sheets glow a soft orange from the light of the fireplace roaring on the opposite wall.

The source of, said, sniffles has his arm draped over his bandaged eyes, as if he needs to further cover them up from the shame of it.

_Oh, my son._

Tony shuffles off his shoes in silence, mulling over how he should approach a post catatonic child, who's been through literal hell and back.

Announcing his arrival would only startle...but so would crushing the boy in to a hug.

_“Balance yourself like a bird on a beam on the air she goes, there she goes. Up! Up! A little bit higher, oh my, the moon is on fire...”_

Peter's arm returns to his side as he grits his teeth and balls his fists. The grief has reached physical pain, and Tony can tell...

He's been there many times, himself.

The boy is absolutely spent.

So, Tony shushes.

It feels right.

Words would be waisted...

...after all, they haven’t convinced Peter, prior to this moment. Why would they make any difference now?

No, this kid needs tangible.

He starts with his calloused fingers brushing over Peter's wrist.

The little jump it causes is inevitable, but his instincts prove right.

The teenager stills in the next second, hand turning over to identify the palm pressing in to his.

Tony catches the flicker of recognition in Peter's brow, so he brings one of the boy's hands to his face, purposeful in letting it run across the stubble of his jaw line.

Peter's nose flares, an involuntary response to understanding just who is standing above him.

Tony takes it as permission to cup the boy's wet cheeks, thumbs landing just in time to dam up a fresh wave of tears.

He shushes some more, heart melting as Peter's chest continues to wrack without a sound.

Brushing back sweaty bangs, Tony bends down to press his lips to Peter's forehead.

"Dad."

_The kid's really here; alive...calling for him._

"Shh-Shh-Shh," Tony continues.

"Dad."

"Yeah, it’s me, bud. Dad’s right here. I've got you. I'm here now."

_'He's not a baby,'_ Tony chides himself...but here he is, unable to see Peter as anything but...

"Daad."

The way Peter drags the name out the third time very nearly crushes his soul.

"Shhh."

The keening, wet sounds muffled against Tony's chest shatter his composure.

"It's over now, Pete. It's over...It's over."

_He really hopes it is...._

The music ends, the record left to spin quietly without a tune.

Its noise is oddly soothing…as gentle as the moment, itself.

Even so, Tony picks up where the song left off, until the fire dies and a bit of light peeks out, just above the horizon.

 

........................

 

_"Mr. Stark...Mr. Stark..."_

Tony hears the name, brow furrowing in an attempt to place who's voice it belongs to.

"Tony."

He opens his eyes when he feels someone give his shoulder a gentle shake. "Huh? What's-"

"Shh.." May whispers, gesturing down to the clinging octopus currently glued to his chest.

Tony lifts his head to look at the boy, bringing his hand up to hover over him on instinct, before flopping back against the pillow. "What time is it?" he whispers back.

"Around ten, I think," May replies, smiling when Tony squints at the sun blaring in his face. "Jarvis is making breakfast. He's got coffee brewing, as well," she adds.

"We don't deserve him," Tony says with a long yawn. He stretches his legs out and smiles when he feels Peter flinch and weave his own limbs back in their original place.

"Truthfully...that's...well, it’s not the only reason why I came up here," May says, not surprised, at all, when Tony's expression sobers at her words. His dark eyes seem to plead with hers, reddening considerably as he waits for what else she has to say. "I wanted to tell you...congratulations, Mr. Stark."

Tony holds his breath, heart pounding hard in his chest.

May doesn't hide her tears, "You have a son."

Tony swallows the emotion, unsuccessful in keeping a few tears of his own from breaking out anyway.

"You're really-but I thought you would speak to Peter before-"

"My exact words were, 'I need to see that he loves you too'", May clarifies, crossing her arms and looking to her nephew. "What more evidence could I possibly need?"

Tony blushes when he realizes she's seen everything...Not just this moment...

_The doting father's unbridled affection..._

_The soothing..._

_Oh._

_At some point she had probably heard him sing._

His face feels like its burning.

But even so, this is fine.

It's well worth it, because Peter is his.

This precious pain in the neck was finally...finally his.

................

 

They sign official documents that very evening, with everyone gathered around Peter's bed as Jarvis brings an ornate set of fountain pens to where Tony sits on the edge of the mattress.

"Sweetheart, are you sure about this? There's no rush," May says, "Tony is your father with or without these papers."

"Yeah, kiddie. We can wait until your eyes heal up," Tony adds, "Maybe throw a party...make it special."

Peter shakes his head at all of it, fingers twitching atop the comforter, "...don' wanna wait-" he whispers, feeling his lungs crackle in his chest. "Just...If something happens..."

He doesn't finish his thought, keeping morbid words from escaping his lips.

Tony turns to May, their stares sharing similar concerns.

Peter tilts his head at the sound of papers ruffling, seconds later; Tony can't help but smile at the boy's hopeful countenance.

"Alright. You win," he says, taking one of the pens and hovering it just above the signature line. "Now, you're absolutely sure this is what you want?"

Tony giggles along with the others when Peter isn't amused by it in the slightest. He scribbles his name down on the paper, blowing on the ink to let it dry before leading Peter's hand to do the same.

The teenager's thin fingers wrap around the pen, letting Tony line him up where he should be, before he feels the tip hit the page. He's grateful when the other man steadies his grip, hoping his name is somewhat legible when he can only guess what it looks like.

May signs it last, her eyes welling up as the process stands complete by her actions.

"Peter Benjamin Stark," she murmurs, smiling and shaking her head. "What do you think of that, baby? Hmm?" she asks her nephew, moving over to kiss his brow and handing the paper back to Tony.

"Ah, half-pint, please. Don't get me started again," Tony says, watching Peter's bottom lip tremble. The moment May pulls back, he brushes away the boy's tears, working hard to keep his own at bay.

"My very own kid. Fancy that, huh?" Tony continues, "You happy now?"

Peter lets out a wet laugh, radiating joy as he wraps weak and shaking arms around his father's neck. "Yeah," he whimpers, sending his body in to a fit of coughing.

Tony brings a glass of water to his lips, prompting him to drink until he's stable again. "See, this is why we should've waited. Too much excitement in your condition...you never listen to me."

Peter can only smile, an obvious peace now resting on his features as he falls asleep to the quiet chatter of his beloved caretakers.

............

The bandages come off a week later.

What should be a cause for celebration turns out to be nothing more than a silver lining to an, already, dismal morning.

Tony sets the telegram, he's just received, down on to Peter's dresser.

He's only able to tell the kid two bits of information...

...that his presence is required at an undisclosed location to discuss certain threats to the nation…

….and that He'll be gone for three weeks.

"But what if you need me?" Peter says, "What if the flashbacks happen and I-I-I'm not there to bring you back?"

"Pete, listen, I get that you're scared-"

"Aren't you?! I'll probably die while you're gone!"

Tony grabs hard at the boy's chin before he can stop himself, eyes wide at hearing such a thing.

"I don't ever... _ever_...want to hear that come out of your mouth again. Do you understand me?”

Peter shoves the hand away, but Tony brings both of them back to his son's face, moving till their noses almost touch, "I...love you."

Peter closes his eyes, suppressing emotions that have long overstayed their welcome, sick of this endless loop of dread and disappointment.

"And you, my dear son," Tony continues, "-are going to be just fine. I have way too many plans for us, just to have you throw in the towel...And when I get back, we're going to do them all, alright?"

"You can't promise that," Peter interjects, suddenly, brave enough to stare straight in to his father's eyes. "You can't promise me anything."

"Yeah, well, we'll work on getting some of that faith back too."

Tony pinches the boy's nose and pulls him in to his arms, feeling Peter surrender and burrow into his chest.

"I love you too," comes the muffled reply, "...Don't go."

"Kid, I have to."

"No."

"Yep."

"No."

"Peter."

"Dad."

"Note to self," Tony laughs, "Need to put another rain check on punishing, or rather, tickling my insufferable son, effective...the moment he reaches a full recovery."

Jarvis enters into the room just then, striding over to lie the newspaper he's holding down beside the two cuddled forms. "Gentlemen it would seem congratulations are in order. You've made the headlines."

Tony and Peter stare down at the title, pausing to take in what it says...

**MILLIONAIRE RESCUES & ADOPTS TITANIC ORPHAN**

There's a moment when Tony wonders how the kid feels about it, hoping Peter isn't insulted by the blatant embellishment or the fact that their lives now stand on display.

"Dad, you're a hero," Peter says with a grin, looking starry-eyed up at his father, "Just look, it's what they're calling you!"

"Psh. For saving my own kid? That isn't heroic, bud, that's fabrication at its finest."

Peter sulks a bit, sitting up and gathering the article in to his lap, "I want to frame it. You're...I mean..." his voice drops to a whisper, face turning scarlet, "...my hero."

Tony laughs through his nose, grabbing the teen and rubbing knuckles into his hair, "Oh, jeez, kid. If you insist."

 

...............................

_~Two Weeks Later~_

 

Tony finds himself running down the driveway the moment the buggy hits the gravel.

It's reflexive...without thought...the instinctive drive to reach home...

_...to reach him._

He flies through the entrance, shoes skidding on the floor as May stands from the couch with mouth gaping, a friend sitting behind her with a similar expression. "Mr. Stark?" she laughs, moving around furniture to meet him.

"How's our kid?" Tony asks, removing his hat and skipping with the pleasantries.

"Depressed," May replies, still baffled to see the millionaire back so soon, "-but not for long, it seems."

Tony looks to the stairs and back, making the woman chuckle as she takes the hat from his hands, "Go on," she says, "We can catch up later."

Tony doesn't need to be told twice, thanking the aunt before racing to what he wants more than anything, “Oh, Mrs. Parker!” he calls back down, “We have some more guests on their way in!”

Reaching the bedroom, he sees Peter lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like a lump of dough for all of half a second before his head lulls to the sound of the door being thrown open.

"Dad?!"

"Oh, my buddy, my boy, you don't know how much I've missed you! Oh, let me look at you! Come here, I gotta kiss those cheeks!" Tony cries, rushing to the bed and doing just that, sending Peter's laughter down candle-lit halls.

"What is this!? You're thinner than when I left you. Are you skipping meals?" he asks, checking for fever as Peter grins up at him.

"I thought you'd be gone for another week."

"I know. I'm as shocked as you are, half-pint. They cut me loose early."

Peter pulls Tony down on top of him, squeezing arms around his neck and sending the older man in to a fit of laughter, "Pete, let go. I'll crush you!"

"Never. You might leave again!"

A knock on the open door makes them both turn to see an unexpected visitor standing there, wearing a familiar smirk.

"Uncle Steve!" Peter cries, unhooking one of his arms and stretching it out for the soldier to come and grab onto. "You're here too?"

"It's 'Uncle' now, huh?" Steve laughs, gripping the boy's hand and shaking it, "Did Tony put you up to that?"

"Nope. That's all him, Rogers," Tony says, maneuvering out of Peter's headlock and sitting up.

His son looks as if he's just run a marathon...a long and grueling one at that.

_'Over a little horse play,'_ he thinks, flashing Peter a big grin to throw him off the scent of parental fear, hiding just beneath the surface.

"I don't suppose you'd want to travel downstairs with us for a bit.... maybe get you out of this room."

Peter looks down at his body beneath the covers, closing his eyes and attempting to find some hidden strength, "Yeah," he grunts out, pushing himself up to a full sitting position.

Steve surprises him by pulling back blankets and hefting him up in his arms. The relief shows on the boy's face.

"Where to?" the soldier asks, turning to his friend and winking.

"Oh, I think...Hey, how’s about the kitchen?" Tony replies.

Peter's eyes narrow, shifting in Steve's hold, "What are you two plotting?" he laughs, watching his father leave the room whilst gesturing for them to follow.

“You’ll see, kid. You’ll see.”

……………………………..

 

Peter’s mouth drops when they enter in to the giant room a few floors down.

_This is a kitchen?_

It’s even bigger than the one back in the manor, with a ceiling reaching towards the heavens and the longest counter tops he’s ever seen.

But nothing prepares him for the rest.

People trickle in through the double doors on the opposite side…people he never expected to see again…familiar faces with smiles and tears.

“Mrs. Whitmore!” Peter cries, spotting Tony’s housekeeper from the manor. She rushes to him, grabbing him with her chubby hands and kissing his head, “Hello, my child! Oh, my sweet love!”

Peter grins at her, looking to Steve in disbelief as the man turns him towards the little girl walking towards them, a bouquet of yellow roses in her tiny hands.

“Daddy would’ve wanted you to have this,” she says, handing him the fresh flowers and smiling up at him.

Peter brings a hand over his face, instant sobs bubbling up at the sight of her, “Daisy,” he gasps, grabbing for the gift and clutching it to his chest, “I’m sorry-so sorry.”

Her mother moves in, giving him a little peck and leaving a lipstick print on his fair skin, “No, no, love. Don’t be sorry. Please, don’t be sorry,” she whispers, “Thank you. Thank you so much for saving our little girl.”

Peter wipes aggressively at his eyes with a sleeve as other survivors and relatives of those lost continue pouring in.

_‘Why? I’m nothing special,’_ he thinks, _‘…I’m nothing.’_

May brings him a handkerchief and they share a moment together. She’s known him the longest…helped him become who he is today. “Looks like Tony’s giving you that party, after all,” she says, “I love you.” Stepping to the right, she stands amongst the others, awaiting something.

_What are they waiting for?_

Another woman moves forward, the feathery hat and glimmering earrings refreshing Peter’s memory.

_The Peacock._

Peter gulps and blushes, unsure of her motives in visiting a wretch from the streets.

Her eyes have softened considerably since he’s seen her last and she smiles with a warmth that can only come from a transformation of the spirit, “Hello, boy,” she says, “Do let me know when that bakery of yours opens up. I should like to be your very first customer.”

Mrs. Molly Brown nudges her way in next, laughing and kissing the teenager, leaving another mark of lipstick on Peter’s forehead, “Well, just look at you, handsome!” she laughs, not caring in the slightest that Peter doesn’t have a clue as to who she is, “Nice to see you a different shade a color other than ash.”

Steve smirks and nods to her, “Mrs. Brown, here, is the one who helped us thaw you back to life,” he says to Peter.

The boy reaches his hand out and she gives it a gentle squeeze, winking at him and taking her place, somewhere in the group.

Jarvis waltzes in next with a train of workers, each bringing in a large array of the best baking gadgets in the world. Several more carry in an industrial sized electric mixer, one of the first of its kind.

It’s too much.

Peter turns in to Steve’s shoulder, weeping quietly as he tries to hide himself from all of the faces in the room until he can collect himself.

“Here, give him to me.”

_Oh, Joy._

_A voice that would only hinder his composure._

He feels Steve set him down, bracing him up and letting his bare feet touch the floor. His legs shake, but they hold his weight as the soldier turns him gently to latch on to his dad.

He’s glad Tony’s right there to wrap him up; he’s not ready to be seen and he buries his face in to his father’s neck.

“Hey, buddy. I went a little overboard, didn’t I?”

Peter nods, feeling Tony rub circles over his back.

“Sorry. I’m Sorry,” the millionaire murmurs with a grin, “I wanted to surprise you, but-”

Tony kicks himself. It really is a bit much to spring on the kid. A half an hour ago, Peter was moping on his bed, staring up at his canopy, without a hope…and now this.

“Um…so, I may have broken our focal point, here,” he says, addressing the huddled company and eliciting a few awes and chuckles, “But, um, if he’s alright with it, I’m going to go ahead and…say my piece, here.”

Everyone goes quiet as the man waits for approval, clearing his throat once he knows he can continue, “This kid…Peter. He’s great.”

_And why did he think he could do this without choking up?_

“Probably the _purest_ thing of my existence…and someone that I did absolutely nothing to deserve…You’ve all read the headlines, but I’m here to tell you, they’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t rescue Peter…He rescued me. I was alone…grieving the loss of my family…”

_Tears are inevitable, he supposes._

Peter turns to look up at him and Tony grabs the sides of his face, “…but then, one day, I see this kid…and hey, you know what? He’s alone too… and, also, grieving the loss of his family…”

Sniffles scatter around the room, watching on as Tony directs his words back to his son. “…and you, Peter Benjamin Stark, did something that _nobody_ else could’ve done. You gave me a second chance…ah, hang on. I need a sec,” Tony chokes up, making everyone laugh through their tears.

The millionaire shakes it off and moves his hands to Peter’s shoulders this time, willing himself to continue the words in his heart, forcing himself to look in to those watery brown eyes and deliver them straight to the boy’s soul, “You let me be a dad again…and I am so…so eternally grateful…that I _get_ to claim you as mine.”

Peter lunges in to Tony’s chest again, sending the audience in to boisterous clapping and cheers for the adopted pair. It’s something joyful to hold on to…a moment that could live on in memory and storytelling, past down from one generation to the next.

And while Titanic’s tale may have been one of tragedy, theirs will, forever, be marked as miraculous.

 

…………

 

They still have bad days…

...even downright horrible ones…

Though it’s been months later, Peter’s body and mind still have yet to make a full recovery.

The nights are the worst.

Bad dreams were always the inevitable part of ‘living to tell the tale’, but Tony’s sure they’ve both gotten the worst case of it.

If its not him, waking up in terror, its Peter. Neither of them has been able to sleep straight through the night in months, but perhaps it would lessen with time.

“Dad?”

Tony raises his head from the book he’s reading, setting it to his left and removing the glasses on the end of his nose when he sees Peter standing at the door.

“Get in here,” he says, lifting the bed covers for Peter to climb under. “Same one, tonight?”

Peter burrows into Tony arm, hiding for a reason, “No…Just wanted you,” he admits, making his father melt.

“Gosh, I’m gonna miss this,” Tony says, “I’ll take every bit I can get before it’s gone for good.”

Peter pulls back, “What do you mean?”

“Well, one of these days, you’re gonna grow up, find a wife to snuggle with instead of your old man and leave me, here, alone in this big empty house.”

“Never.”

Tony laughs in to Peter’s curls, “Yeah, you say that now, half-pint, but you’ll see. It’s the circle of life.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, buddy.”

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“When did you know you loved me?”

“From the moment you looked at me with those ridiculously large puppy dog eyes.”

“Dad.”

“It’s true, kid! Love at first sight,” Tony says, letting out a long yawn as he gives more serious thought to his son’s question, “…but, I suppose, if you want me to peg when I knew you had to be my kid…probably when I first brought you home with me. You were all sorts of whiney and clingy with fever, and you wouldn’t even let me get up to go to the bathroom. I was ruined from that point on.”

Peter sniffs in amusement at the recollection, moving slightly to let Tony switch off the bedside lamp.

“What about you?” Tony says, tickling Peter’s ribs, “Huh? When was your epiphany? If I have to get all mushy, so do you.”

Peter clears his throat, filtering through a barrage of memories as he works his way back to the beginning, “There was a time…back in the winter…when Mr. Toomes really took the belt to my back.”

Tony can’t help but pull Peter tighter to him, resting his chin atop the boy’s head as he finishes.

“You tried to help, but I wouldn’t let you. It was while we were riding on the horse, back to the bakery…I felt safe for the first time in forever. I thought, ‘I wish he was my dad.”

“Sweet boy,” Tony whispers, remembering the teenager’s dirty face in the window as he rode away that night. Even then, their souls were knitting together. “Close your eyes, now. Try to get some rest.”

Peter obeys, warm and loved as he listens to Tony’s steady heartbeat.

The older man’s snores soon follow.

And this time, they sleep through the night.

 

 

 

_The End_

……………………

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not gonna lie…this writer is a basket of emotions right now, dear friends!! I love you all so very much! Thank you for coming on this journey with me! What an exciting thing it is to finish something. Lol  
> Please let me know what you think of the ending. Write a review or let me know what you’d like to see next.  
> As you may have noticed, I have left some things very open ended. This is on purpose for the possibility of a WW1 sequel. So, stay tuned for that possibility…  
> Also, for those interested in Peter’s recollection, there is a side story to it called, “But if you Really Hold Me Tight” if you want the backstory. Just check it in my archives, here, on the site.  
> If you’d like to see more fanart and a few more little scenes I may be adding to this AU, please come follow me on my tumblr @eccentric-artist-221b


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